


Reality Check, Please!

by beaniebaneenie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst first y'all, Break Up, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hockey, Las Vegas Aces, M/M, Multi, Near Future, Other, but also a bunch of other stuff, there is cooking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-03 10:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12746787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beaniebaneenie/pseuds/beaniebaneenie
Summary: Four years after Bitty graduated Samwell, and he's exactly where he thought he would be. Mostly. Well, he's close, and that's what counts. He's dating Jack, and their close friends know! So what if he's not out-out yet... it'll happen. Someday. Jack promised. When Kent Parson - of all people - shows up in Providence with no warning, Bitty isn't happy about it. Especially when Kent points out the lack of follow-through in his current life plan.But hey.... plans can change right? Especially when Bitty decides to have a conversation he should have had a long time ago, and the choices he makes next throw his whole universe for a loop.





	1. Unwelcome Guest

* * *

Kent knew he was early. Even for a normal person, let alone a hockey practice, twenty-six minutes ahead of schedule was bordering on ridiculous. So sue him, he wasn’t used to Providence traffic, and he had no idea what the roads looked like on Thursday afternoons. He’d rather be early than late. Even if that meant twiddling his thumbs for almost half an hour. He didn’t want to screw this up. He had a narrow window of time, and if it didn’t happen this time, it would be ages before he had another chance.

Flashing a smile and his ID to the security gate, he parked himself on one of the benches in the lobby, the place feeling a bit removed from the bustling world outside without the usual chatter and energy of a game night. He still had plenty of time, even after a slow walk from the parking lot. There was a book in his bag, but he didn’t reach for it in favor of popping in his earbuds and opening his new Tetris app. Swoops had stolen his phone on their last roadie and overwritten his high score. Not for long, if he had anything to say about it.

* * *

 

Bitty smiled and waved cheerily to the security guard as he handed him a saran-wrapped brownie before heading in. He and Jack were going to dinner tonight. They had reservations. Early seating at the swanky new French place in town, that he’d been dying to try for two months now, but Jack’s schedule had been too busy for them to go together. Not to mention the increase in worry that someone might see them together and snap an inopportune photo.  

Bitty sighed. Jack had promised, though. They would go right after practice. Bitty would be in his dress slacks and waistcoat, and Jack would be dressed nice too, the picture of a ‘working meal’, rather than the date it was. Jack hadn’t come out yet, so this was the best they could do. It was better than nothing. And Jack had promised.

As he walked in, fifteen minutes left until the end of practice, Bitty felt like he swallowed an entire lemon. What in seven hells was Kent Parson doing here?

Dang. Where Kent was sitting, he couldn’t walk past or sit somewhere else without Kent noticing. Well. If he was going to be noticed, might as well earn it.

* * *

 

Kent looked up from his game at the harsh scrape of metal against the floor to see none other than Eric Bittle tugging a bench over so that it was just slightly closer to the entrance hallway than the one Kent was sitting on.  

He took one deep breath. Of course, it would be Bittle.

He paused his music, then stowed his phone in his pocket. “Hey,” he offered as a greeting. “You need a hand?” he asked, gesturing to the bench.

“No.” The reply was short, clipped, and chilly enough that Kent could have sworn the temperature in the arena dropped a few degrees.

He nodded, not wanting to push. The few interactions they’d had over the years could be described as ‘strained’ at best. They were both here, and they were both clearly waiting. So. He could share space with Eric Bittle.

Kent glanced down at his watch. Exactly fifteen minutes before the scheduled end of practice. Jeez, this kid was the epitome of Southern Gentleman. Kent knew they had a while yet before practice would actually be over though, so he reached for his phone again, determined to beat Swoops.

Before he could pull it out, Bittle cleared his throat. “If you’re waiting for Jack,” he drawled, sounding polite to anyone who hadn’t had the exposure to his particular brand of southern passive aggressive barbs, “we’ve got plans. Pity there won’t be time to catch up.”

A year ago, Kent would have lashed out. Fuck, a few months ago, he probably would have said something awful and snide, hoping to hurt Bittle as much as it had hurt to know that there had been a witness four years ago to Jack kissing him, then shoving him away, and refusing to even acknowledge that Kent had been allowed to miss him. Instead, he heard Maxine’s words in his head. _Anger is fear turned inwards. Sometimes there is truth in it, but not everyone is ready to hear it. Sometimes not even you._ His therapist hadn’t steered him wrong yet. Kent took a deep breath, and was surprised to realize that he wasn’t as hurt as he thought he would be. There was a truth he could share here, that Bittle might want to hear.

“Nope, not here for him. Not everything revolves around Jack,” Kent said, his tone easy and friendly. The words were a mantra some days, but less now than they were before. Something his year (and seven months, two weeks, four days) of therapy with Maxine had been helping with was letting go. He was never going to have a chance to say the things he needed to with Jack. He’d realized that a while ago. Sure, he’d had a couple sessions where he’d shouted at Max’s wall for hours, that had ended with him shaking and crying while he sat on the floor and ran her green fuzzy blanket through his fingers. But the weight that had been lifted had been so fucking worth it.

Bitty arched an eyebrow. Clearly he didn’t buy this explanation. “If you’re not here to hurl yourself at Jack, then why are you here? Practice is letting out in a few minutes, you won’t be able to hurl yourself at the goal either.”

What the- that was like, four years ago. This is a new level of petty, even for Bittle. The guy was like, mid-twenties now, shouldn’t they be above this? _Breathe_ , he hears Max. So he does.

“I’m meeting a friend. I don’t have a lot of those with my job, but I’ve got some.” He smiles. Then the rest of what Bittle said sinks in, and he can’t help but chuckle. “If the Falcs’ coach is anything like every other coach in the league, they won’t be out for at least another hour.”

Bittle’s frown increased.

Kent’s eyes widened. “Whoa. You- you thought they were really gonna be out here in a few minutes.” It’s not meant to be a dig. Kent’s just a little shocked that Bittle could have been dating a pro player for nearly half a decade and still think that practice ended on time.

No such luck for Bittle not to take it that way though. “I’ll have you know that Jack promised- we have _plans_ , I made _reservations_ ,” he said, a whine coming into his voice.

Kent’s heart went out to him. The number of times he’d had to apologize to friends or dates for being late out of practice, or a game… or a press thing. Every one of his guys had to do it. There were plenty of ex-friends and ex-girlfriends who hadn’t stuck around. “Eric,” he started gently, “I- I’m sorry, man. The season’s schedule is tough, I know. But… you really ought to prepare for a whole lot of missed reservations in your future if-”

“Just because you couldn’t keep a promise if your life depended-”

“He made promises to me once. He held me and promised forever. He told me I was beautiful. He said we were a team too,” Kent said. His voice was quiet and even, he wasn’t mad. But he knew that this was a truth that Eric Bittle needed to hear, whether he was ready for it or not. Because it was clearly affecting his life.  “You should think long and hard about who you would be if Jack moved on. Or if he decided that his career, that avoiding another scandal, was more important than you. About whether he's worth being in the closet for. Whether he's worth a long distance relationship. Eighty-two games, Bittle. More, if you're lucky. And if you think he's gonna be focused entirely on you during off days, you're dreaming.”

“It’s not long distance, we live in the same _apartment-_ ”

 “Really? Jack is a pro player. He’s on the road every other week. Sometimes for more than a week at a time. Jack is in other states and sometimes other countries for more than half the year. I hate to be the one to tell you, Eric, but that?” he shrugged, always the bearer of bad news in this kid’s book, “that’s a long-distance relationship. And the off season isn't a magic fix for the ten months of every year where you will barely see him. Figure out now, if he's worth that. Because the only one making sacrifices is going to be you. You want to start a bakery, right?”

Bitty nodded. It was a small thing, but he seemed to be upset with himself for responding to Kent, even if it was nonverbal.

“What happens if he gets traded? What happens if the Habs come calling? You think he's gonna say no, for you? Food service is a thankless job. My sister and I worked food service every summer for six years, bro, I get it. Your own place means like, super long-ass days, man. You want to do that for 20 hours a day, for the promise of a ten-minute Skype call that can't hug you back after a bad review in the latest magazine? Because that's what's going to happen. Are you really ready for that?"

* * *

 

Bitty bristled. They hadn’t had daily skype sessions since that first summer, but he wasn’t about to tell Kent Parson that. In fact, they had been talking less and less over the long roadie sessions. They’d had more than one fight about it in the last year, though Bitty had always told himself that it was silly to expect that much contact when Jack’s job was so busy, to expect a call from Jack when he was working and playing so hard. Typical Kent Parson, who was clearly so starved for real affection he couldn’t understand a compromise when he saw one. He was about to say as much when Kent started talking again.

“Look, I know it’s not easy, dating one of us. Even ones that aren’t as fucked up as me. I uh, I can get you the digits for some of the Aces WAGs, if you want? For some perspective, or help or whatever… I mean, I know you’re probably super tight with these guys, but if you ever want to talk to someone else, or get another take on it…”

“Why would-”

Kent sighed heavily. “Because as the clock keeps rolling, the WAGs are gonna be the ones you actually talk to, Eric. And the longer the Falcs go without a Cup, it’s only gonna get worse. Happens on every team. The WAGs are a lifeline for each other as much as they are for their partners. More,” Kent said, “in most cases.” Kent looked Bitty in the face, his eyes dark. “There’s a lot of things most teams keep from you guys. You gonna be okay if he gets his rocks off with a one night stand in Edmonton or Dallas? Or with knowing that half the guys he's playing with are doing the same thing, because they can?”

“I know my boys,” Bitty said, two pink spots high in his cheeks, “and they would never-”

“I’ve personally seen four of them with people I know for a fact aren’t their SO’s,” Kent said. His voice was firm and steady, but not emotional like Bitty’s was. “Bittle, I know how hockey players, hell, any pro athletes can be. Fuck, I know how _men_ in general can be. Especially straight ones,” he added. “And no, I’m not telling you who, because you don’t need that on your conscience. And that’s their thing, to decide who knows. Bittle,” Kent said, and his voice was quieter now, his face tilted down, like he was embarrassed of his earlier statement. “You need to figure that shit out now, whether you’re gonna be okay with that… because these guys? They’re not boys,” Kent said gently. “They’re grown-ass adults. And none of them – including Jack, by the way – are ever going to answer to you for how they behave on the road.”

Why was Parson saying this? He had to know that not telling him who was cheating would be worse… Bitty shook his head, trying to clear the thought from his mind. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. There was no way it could be… he knew his boys…

Parson was right though, at least in one thing. None of them _were_ boys. They were all adults. Even Poots, and the rookies. Though they were younger than he was, they were still adults. And if he allowed himself to think, for just a moment, he would have to admit that he’d heard a few of them mention that rules didn’t apply on roadies. But… even if others did that – and he had a hard time with that thought – Jack wouldn’t… would he?

“Jack – Jack wouldn’t. Jack and I… we’re comin’ out.” Bitty nodded hard, once. Jack promised him, they had a plan. Most of a plan. There wasn’t a date, but they were going to do it. They would be out, and everyone would know how in love they were. And Parson could shove it. Bitty looked him dead in the eye and smirked. “We’re gonna do it, and everyone will know he belongs with me.”

To Bitty’s surprise, Kent didn’t seem fazed. “Really?” he asked, as though he was just double-checking on the likelihood of rain this evening. “When’s the date?”

“There’s not a specific date, per se,” he started, annoyed that Kent had zeroed in on the only flaw in the plan, “but Jack promised. It’ll be soon.”

“Bittle.”

“It _will_ be, he promised!”

Kent actually looked sympathetic. “Did this promise have anything to do with the Stanley Cup?”

Jack had never come right out and said that, of course. But Bitty had his suspicions, in his more private moments, that winning the Cup would indeed be what it took for Jack to feel like he had finally achieved enough success to be able to announce his sexuality to the world. “Maybe,” he grumbled.

“Bittle… what if the Falcs never win it? I’m sorry to say that,” he said, tapping his knuckles against the bench, and then pulling out his keys and knocking them against a wooden keychain, in case the superstition demanded an actual wooden object. “But what if that happens? Are you gonna be okay if you get stuck in the closet until retirement? Or longer?”

* * *

 

“Bittle, I swear,” Kent said, knowing how Eric was likely to take this, “I’m not trying to be a dick, or to cause trouble, or anything like that. I promise,” he said again, only about twelve percent convinced that Eric would even consider believing him. “I just… I know what it does to you… to keep putting your life on hold for Jack Zimmermann.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Dude, I’ve been there. For years. I’m kind of like, the mayor of there.”

Bittle still looked angry. His arms were crossed and he was tapping a foot angrily on the concrete, like he wanted to be as nasty as possible, but he hadn’t worked out the exact wording that would hurt Kent the most.

Kent sighed. “I get it. I know you don’t like me, really. And I’m not mad about that.” He really wasn’t. Therapy was really doing wonders. He’d have to remember to thank Maxine next week. “I know how hard it is to maintain a relationship through all of this. And I know what it’s like to be closeted.”

“We’re not-”

Kent couldn’t help it, he did laugh at this. “Really? I want to know what you’re smoking, and where you got it… because if you genuinely think that this is being out, then whatever it is, it’s gotta be the good stuff. Bittle… some of your friends may know, and some of his team, I don’t know… and that is absolutely none of my business,” he said, putting his hands up, preferring to pick his battles here. “But as far as the world is concerned? The media is concerned? Jack Zimmermann is as straight as a nun’s ruler.”

Jeez, but Bittle’s eyes could get huge. The kid looked like he’d been slapped.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said, and he really meant it. “I-” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, knowing that it was already a mess, so there really was no point in trying to keep it presentable, “I know that’s blunt. And I wish I knew how to make it sound softer? Easier? I’m… working on the sarcasm thing. With…” he paused, unsure if he wanted to admit this. It might be one of the only ways to get Eric to realize that this was not jealousy, this wasn’t some twisted desire to wrest Jack Zimmermann away from him, or some destructive impulse that couldn’t bear to see anyone else happy. He sighed. “With my therapist.”

“You’re seeing a therapist?”

Kent wasn’t sure if Bittle had meant it as snotty as it came out. If he was being honest with himself, it could have been either. And if he was being really honest, he probably deserved some of that scorn. He knew he did. “Look, I know you overheard the stuff I said to Jack back at that party,” he said. It was years ago, but he knew he didn’t have to specify which party he meant. They both knew exactly which one he was talking about. “Since I said it to him, and not you, he’s the one who got the apology for it. I don’t know whether or not he told you about it, and again, that’s none of my business,” Kent said firmly. “But I’ll say it to you anyway, because you heard it, and as his friend, you probably had to deal with the fallout. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of it.”

“I’m his boyfriend, asshole.”

“Yes, I know that,” Kent said. Fuck, this kid was stubborn. Was he purposely only latching on to the pieces of information he wanted? “You’re his boyfriend now, but back then you guys were just friends, right? Right?” he said again, when Bittle didn’t respond. He got a disgruntled ‘humph’ in response, but it wasn’t a refusal, so Kent took that.

“So, you were just friends back then. So I don’t need to apologize for kissing him.”

Clang. Bittle stood abruptly, pushing the bench back against the wall as he did so. Kent winced. He’d be willing to bet (and after living in Vegas for so long, he’d developed very good reflexes against taking offered bets) that Zimmermann hadn’t told Eric about this. “In fairness, he kissed me back. And since you just said you weren’t dating at the time, you don’t really have any real reason to be angry with me,” Kent said.

“He would have- he would have told me,” Bittle said, insistent, and eyes blazing.

Kent leaned back, arching a brow. “Really? Jack Zimmermann, the guy who, by all accounts, kept his sexuality from every single one of you, until he ran across campus and kissed you? Who continued to keep the secret until you begged him to be allowed to tell a couple people? He texted me,” Kent explained. “To ask if it was okay, since, if any of his team found out, they might make assumptions about me. Y’know, since ESPN likes to throw around assumptions.” Kent clenched his fists, then curled and uncurled his fingers, deliberately, slowly. Bittle needed to know these things, and it seemed like Jack still wasn’t sharing.

It may not have been his place, hell, it probably wasn’t anywhere near his place to say anything at all… but Kent knew what it felt like to wait for Jack Zimmermann to get his shit together while you waited. And waited. And waited. And he knew, the longer you waited for Jack Zimmermann, the more it hurt you in the long run. “Look, the guy who was so good at hiding his anxiety from his parents that they didn’t notice until I found him face down on the bathroom floor.”

Eric’s voice was small when he spoke, knees trembling as he sat back down. “Y-you found him?”

Kent nodded, letting out a heavy breath. “Yeah. I did. I called 9-1-1 too. Waited for the ambulance, but they wouldn’t let me ride with him. Not family. Wouldn’t tell me anything in the waiting room either,” he added. “I’m-”

“Not family,” Eric said softly. “Lord, that must have been-” he paused, seeming to realize that he was offering sympathy to Kent, and that this flew in the face of everything he had ever given Kent before.

“It wasn’t one of my favorite nights, let’s leave it at that.” Kent dragged a hand over his face. “Bittle, my point wasn’t to bring up the bad stuff. Just- listen. I knew him really well back then, or at least I thought I did. He’s a master at only letting people see what he wants them to, whether it’s intentional or not. He got that skill from both parents.” Kent sighed. “Ask him about it, or don’t. It’s entirely up to you. I’m really not about to make decisions on your relationship.”

“Then… why did you tell me?”

Kent looked up and locked eyes with Bittle. He looked so much younger than he was right now. “I uh…” How the hell was he supposed to say this? Part of him wasn’t sure why exactly he had started this conversation with Jack Zimmermann’s boyfriend. It wasn’t to break them up. He didn’t want Jack anymore. And that realization hit him like a fucking ton of bricks, mostly because he knew it was true. He didn’t want Jack anymore. “I guess… I just know how he can be… how it can be, you know, to be in his orbit. He’s… he’s kinda got his own gravity, you know?”

Bittle gave the smallest nod. Kent took it as a good sign, or at least a sign to continue.

“I know what it can be like to get sucked into that. To be willing to put things on hold, to give up things, and convince yourself that it’s okay, that you’re not- you’re not really giving up stuff…. Or that it’s like, worth it, or whatever, just to get to be with him?” Kent wasn’t sure he was making sense anymore, and he had only ever been this open with three people in his life, one of whom was his therapist, and the other he was related to. “I know how fucked up I am. And believe me, I know plenty of that is my fault.” Okay, he would have to put a twenty in the Blame Jar when he got back to Vegas. “I know plenty of that is because of my issues. The way my brain is wired.” There. Better word choice. “And I’m working on that stuff. But it took me a hell of a long time to realize that not all of it was me.” He gave Bittle a half-smile. “Living for someone else really does things to you. Messes with your head.”

“For someone else?” Bittle was fidgeting, but at least he didn’t look angry anymore. If anything, the way he was leaning forward almost looked like he was genuinely interested in what Kent had to say.

“Yeah… I made a lot of decisions because I thought it was what Jack wanted from me, or for me… or because I was planning on ‘us’… and he didn’t have the same plan. He’d just never told me that.”

Bitty chewed his lower lip, leaning back and forth, his fingers twisting the hem of his cardigan. “What… what decisions?”

Kent hadn’t specifically laid them out in a long time, but Eric was asking. And he had been the one to start the conversation, so Kent felt he sort of owed it to him to answer his questions honestly. He met Eric’s eye. “If Jack had asked me not to accept the Aces’ offer, I wouldn’t have.”

* * *

 


	2. Turn that Smile Upside Down

 

* * *

 

_“If Jack had asked me not to accept the Aces’ offer, I wouldn’t have.”_

* * *

 

Eric gasped, his hand involuntarily fluttering, like he wanted to cover his mouth.

Kent nodded. “I know. Looking back now, I can’t believe it. But it’s true. When I went to see him in the hospital that morning, Bob told me that Jack wanted me to go to the draft. I went. Because I though Jack wanted it.”

“He didn’t? I can’t believe he would have-”

“Jack wasn’t awake yet, Eric. Bob said what he needed to, to get me to go. If Jack had asked me not to go to the draft, I don’t have to think about it. I know I wouldn’t have gone.” Kent saw the way Eric’s hands were starting to tremble. “He was that important to me… and it wasn’t healthy. Look, I don’t know what he’s told you about us? And I am absolutely not asking… that’s between you two, seriously. But whatever he has or hasn’t said… I was talking about long term. I was talking about winning the Cup together, about kissing on center ice. Really doing it. Coming out. And he wasn’t correcting me, or saying he wasn’t on board with any of it.”

Eric took a deep breath of his own, then leaned back, seeming to deflate a bit.

“Now, I’m not saying that not hearing ‘no’ is the same thing as a ‘yes’… enthusiastic consent is my jam,” Kent said. “Especially now… The way my head works, I gotta hear from people explicitly… that they want me. I uh… I made a lot of plans that featured Jack, and I thought he was making them too. He wasn’t… and I had no idea until he stopped taking my calls.” 

* * *

 

This…. This was nothing at all like the version Jack had told him. The version where it was purely physical, they’d only hooked up a couple times… and Kent had been the one who got over-attached and couldn’t let go. It was possible that Kent was just screwing with him… lying to mess with his head, to break them up, to do anything to hurt Jack.

But… it didn’t seem that way. Kent really seemed like he was being open and honest here. Allowing himself to be vulnerable. To _him_ , of all people. And Kent was taking responsibility… not all of it, sure, but a healthy share. Having Kent look him in the face, and hearing Kent say that he wasn’t here for Jack, that he wasn’t interested in him anymore, that he didn’t want Jack… that this was not about him… that was pretty powerful.

Had Jack really ghosted Kent? Bitty thought back to everything he had ever heard Jack – or Shitty – say about Jack and Kent… and he realized that Jack himself had told him so. He hadn’t spoken to Kent more than a handful of times since the draft. And Epikegster was the first time they’d spoken since the last time Kent had driven to Samwell. Even in the years since then, he could count on one hand the number of times Jack had reached out to Kent. Or brought him up. Or even acknowledged his existence.

And even then, it was only ever when they played each other. Those games always made Jack tense, grumpy, and much more prone to snap. Bitty sighed. He’d always figured that dealing with Kent was the reason Jack was always in knots, but now that he thought about it, Jack never called Kent, never spoke to him, never texted him. Before any of these games, Jack never had any direct contact with Kent at all… the only time he had to deal with him was when they were literally face to face, on the ice.

And as much as he might want to, he couldn’t deny that, of the two of them, Bitty was the one who made virtually all the plans in their relationship. He was the one planning the big wedding- someday. Planning the coming-out party… which Jack always had an excuse to put off, whenever it got brought up. Well. Whenever _he_  brought it up. Because Jack never did. Jack had never brought up telling their friends either. It had been him that did that. With a voicemail… with a twist in his stomach that made him feel almost sick, Bitty remembered deciding to call- and purposely doing it when Jack couldn’t answer. So that he could say what he wanted to say.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Sure, Jack had done what he wanted. They’d told their close friends. And a couple weeks later, they’d told a good portion of the Falconers. But, if he was being honest, Kent was right. He was just as much of a secret boyfriend now, as he had been nearly four years ago. And there was absolutely no sign on the horizon that this would be changing.

“I just… it’s- he’s…” Bitty wasn’t even sure what sentence he was trying to compose. But Kent just nodded.

“I get it, man. Really, I do. Not sure what it is about him, but he makes you willing to put a lot of shit on hold… to be honest, I don’t even know if it’s something he does on purpose?” Kent ran a hand through his hair, and watching him, Bitty was hit with the image of a dandelion in a summer breeze. “But yeah. I know how it is, you know… to be willing to completely rearrange your whole life for Jack Zimmermann. Just…. I wanted you to be... aware of that, I guess? You’re too good a person to end up like me,” Kent said, a self-deprecating smile on his face as he shrugged.

“Kent,” Bitty said, “You’re not-”

But Kent but him off with a laugh. “Dude, it’s fine. You don’t have to pretend you like me, or whatever. It’s okay. My ego can definitely take that. I’m good, I promise.” Kent hesitated, then added, “The thought’s appreciated though.”

Bitty blinked. He wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say, even now… so maybe it was a good thing Kent had stopped him from saying it. Whatever ‘it’ was.

He stared at the hem of his cardigan, feeling the wool between his fingers. “Did you ever tell him you loved him?”

Kent’s eyes widened, and Bitty chewed on his lower lip. Damn it… he hadn’t meant to ask that out loud, but it seemed his mouth never got the memo. Before he could tell Kent not to answer, to just forget he had ever asked, Kent was talking.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

Bitty waited. But Kent didn’t elaborate. _Don’t do it, Bittle_ , he thought. _Don’t you dare do it. Don’t ask him_ \- “Did he ever say it back?”

Kent hadn’t moved, but he didn’t look surprised that Bitty had asked. Kent didn’t look angry either, even though he’d had essentially just questioned the entire validity of their relationship.

Kent took a deep breath, then said, “You… you look like maybe you didn’t want to ask that?” Bitty couldn’t tell if it was a question or not, so he didn’t say anything.

“If- if you want me to answer that, I will. But if you want me to forget you asked, seriously, I can forget it. We can do that, if you want, Eric.”

Bitty felt a lump in his throat, thick and heavy, like there was a weight in his mouth, trying to stop him from asking, but now that he’s come this far, he wasn’t sure when he’d ever have another opportunity. Kent seemed to understand though, because he said, “You want to know, huh?”

Bitty forced himself to nod.

“Yes,” Kent said. “Jack said it back.” Kent’s eyes were dark now, though with what, Bitty wasn’t sure. He saw Kent grip the metal bench, then bite his lip before breathing out, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

It was Kent’s turn to look utterly confused. “Um… I know that probably wasn’t what you wanted to hear…”

“Everyone deserves to hear it back when they say ‘I love you’,” Bitty said without thinking. He’d grown up always being told that, and he believed it with all his heart. As his brain processed the fact that he’d just said this to Kent Parson, and he firmly believed that it did, in fact, apply to him, Bitty met Kent’s gaze, and was shocked to see that his eyes looked almost… wet.

“Wow,” Kent said softly. “Thanks, Eric. I uh…” Kent sniffed- oh my lord, was he- was he almost crying? “…I can see why Jack is stuck on you. He… he’s a lucky guy.”

Bitty opened his mouth, but absolutely nothing came out. Not a damn thing. Every time he thought about himself and Jack, them, together… he always thought about how lucky he was. To have Jack. He knew it like he knew that they sky was blue. But, he told himself, the sky wasn’t blue… the wavelengths of light that made it through the atmosphere combined with his particular vision meant that he saw the sky that way… but that wasn’t the way it really was. Did Kent really think Jack was lucky to have _him_?

Bitty was spared the pressure of having to respond by a loud clattering from the hall as most of the team barged through, giant gym bags and various accoutrements in tow. Half of them gave him some greeting, and a few even acknowledged Kent with curt nods or half-waves. Kent, for his part, smiled at all of them, and accepted Snowy’s flip off with grace.

Bitty felt his stomach get tighter and tighter as each man that walked past wasn’t Jack. Where was he?

He glanced over at Kent… who was also still here. Still waiting. Kent had said that he wasn’t waiting for Jack… so who-

“KENOSHA!” boomed Tater’s voice from halfway down the hall, getting louder as he bounded the last few feet to run up to Kent, who was now standing and _smiling_ _the brightest, sweetest smile on his face that Bitty had ever seen_ as Tater picked him up in a giant bear hug and spun him around. Kent was laughing. Tater was hugging Kent Parson, and they were both laughing. What kind of alternate universe was this?

“What are you doing here?” Jack was the one who spoke, his tone colder than Bitty had heard in a long time. Kent’s smile shrunk by a couple of molars, but it shifted almost immediately into his media grin. After having seen the real thing just now, Bitty wasn’t sure how he could ever have believed the other one was genuine.

“He here for me, Zimmboni. We go get pedicure together,” Tater said, looking back and forth between Kent and Jack.

“You hate him,” Jack said, keeping his eyes on Tater, completely ignoring Kent.

Tater shrugged. “Maybe so, once. Not anymore. Not for long time now. Ages ago, Kenosha, he find me in Vegas bar after game… he say sorry for Snowy, sorry for some other things… and I’m say sorry too. Even when I’m mad, shouldn’t be picking people up, or calling rats. Hockey is rough game, you know? But,” and he sounded firm now, “no reason we cannot leave on ice.”

“But- but…” Jack was showing all the confusion Bitty felt right now. Even though they weren't teammates, he and Tater were close, and he had no idea that Tater was friends with Kent.

“How come y’all didn’t say?” Bitty asked, throwing Jack a bone. Jack nodded. “Yeah, Tater. Why didn’t you tell me you were spending time with him? And how long as this been going on?”

Tater stood up a little bit taller, using his full six-foot-four frame, and put an arm around Kent’s shoulders. “We’re have pedicure dates when we are close to same cities… is nice. And Marty and Third not complain about smelly feet so much anymore. Is fun. Kenosha is fun,” Tater said. Bitty noticed that his hand tightened ever so slightly around Kent’s shoulder, and that every time Tater used the nickname, Kent’s smile got a little bit softer.

“Zimmboni… we do this for almost two years now,” Tater added. “Is nothing new.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Jack asked, his eyebrows drawn into a scowl.

Tater wasn’t fazed. “You always get mad when anyone talk about Kenosha… B, you too,” he said, nodding at Bitty. “I’m love you both… not want to make uncomfortable, or upset. Is _not_ secret,” he said firmly. “Not ashamed, not want to hide. But I know you don’t like to talk about Kenosha… so I’m just not say. Not need to know.  Now you know.” Tater’s voice was calm, and his arm was still around Kent. Kent looked more nervous, but he was standing his ground just the same, holding a carefully collected, deliberately casual stance.

Jack was clearly still annoyed, his face thunderous, but he didn’t voice any of this. “Come on, Bits,” he said, “we have plans.”

Bitty jumped a bit, the phrase jolting his memory. He looked down at his watch and felt his heart sink. “Hon, we missed the reservation…” Kent had been right again. Well, in all fairness, Bitty shouldn’t have expected him to be wrong, at least, not about this. More often than not, Jack was late coming out of practice. Even when he knew they had plans.

Jack’s frown deepened. “They probably held the table a little while. Places do that, right?”

Bitty sighed. “Not for two hours, honey.”

Jack didn’t say anything at first. After a tense minute or two, he ground out, “Your food is better anyway,” then strode past Bitty, out the doors, presumably to where his range rover was parked.

Tater let out a deep sigh. “Sorry Kenosha… maybe I’m should have say something before.”

Kent shakes his head. “No, Alyosha, it’s fine. He uh… he’s always been like this where I’m concerned. It’s okay. I’m- I’m used to it, it’s fine.”

Tater frowned. “Should not be used to it. Is not nice,” he said, his shoulders drooping.

Kent hugged him around the middle, and Tater brightened somewhat. “We go?”

“Sure, Lyosha…” Kent turned to Bitty. “See you around?” His voice sounded- hopeful, almost? But as soon as Kent said the words, he looked down at the concrete, his shoulders sagging just a little, like maybe, maybe he was sad that he asked, or that he expected Bitty to say no. Or worse, to say something awful, which - Bitty had a curling, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach - is exactly what he would have done, less than a few hours ago.

Now, though…. He smiled softly, reaching out a hand to lightly touch Kent’s shoulder. “Sure thing, Kent.”

Kent’s eyes were wide and bright as he looked up and met Bitty’s gaze, searching to find the joke he was sure was there. Bitty made sure his smile was genuine, and gave Kent’s shoulder a squeeze. “Go ahead and get my number from Tater… don’t be a stranger, all right?”

Kent nodded slowly, like he was moving through water, Bitty’s actions clearly not what he expected at all. Bitty nodded too. The meeting hadn’t started out well, but it had gotten a lot better… and Kent had given him a lot to think about, both in terms of his own life, and about Kent himself.

* * *

 

“Aaahhh,” Tater sighed happily as he leaned back into the pedicure massage chair. “So nice… so glad we can do this today, Kenosha.”

Kent smiled, leaning back in his own chair, though not quite as relaxed as Tater.

“What you say to him?”

“Huh?” Jeez, Kent, that was eloquent.

Tater knew what he meant though, as he usually did. “B. I’m think he not like you very much before. He never want to talk about you…unless to say not nice things. But back there,” he said, jerking a thumb over his big shoulder, “he say give you his number. B smile at you. What you say to him, make B change his mind?”

Kent huffed his bangs out of his face, knowing it wouldn’t do anything except give him a moment to try and think of an answer. When that didn’t work, he closed his eyes. “Y’know, Lyosha… I have absolutely no idea? When we started talking, he was pretty determined to keep on hating me. He probably still does.”

Tater shook his head, smiling. “Nope. I know smile, is B’s real smile. He not hate you, not anymore.”

Kent wasn’t convinced. He opened his eyes when he felt a light pressure on his hand. Tater was drawing light nonsense patterns on his skin with the tips of his fingers. “I’m say before,” he said softly, “Kenosha complicated. But once you get to know… is easy. Easy to like, easy to… be friends.”

Kent felt his chest clench, and he hated himself a little bit. He’d been hoping for another word that started with ‘l’, but he knew he shouldn’t. Being with Alyosha, someone that kind and sweet and caring…. If he let himself actually date him, Kent knew he would fall hard, and fall fast… and if it ever didn’t work out, it would kill him. Because he would have hurt the most amazing person he’d ever met. He wanted that though… even though he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn’t even sure Alyosha wasn’t straight. He had his suspicions…. Kent was at least fairly certain that Alyosha wasn’t strictly into ladies… but he’d never come out and asked. That would be far too close to allowing himself to entertain the thought of actually being in a relationship with him.

So instead of climbing out of his spa chair to curl up in Alyosha’s lap like he wanted to, he settled for turning his hand over and gently closing his fingers over Tater’s larger ones. “Thanks, Lyosha. You’re easy to be friends with too. I uh.. I’m glad that we do this.”

“Me too, Kenosha.” Tater gave his hand a squeeze. “You pick my color yet? Plane leave without you if you not pick soon.”

Kent smirked. This, he could do. Picking the most outrageous color for Alyosha’s toes involved exactly zero soul-searching thoughts about his future happiness. Never mind that this was exactly what he told Eric to do. “That one,” he said, pointing to a bottle on the nail technician’s table. It was a bright neon orange, and it sparkled as Kent’s technician passed it over to her colleague, smiling at their customers.

Tater let out a booming laugh. “Okay, Kenosha. I see how it is. This for you,” he said, passing over a highly saturated bright blue.

“Falconers blue?” Kent asked, quirking an eyebrow. They’d been doing these pedicure sessions for a couple years, and about a year ago, they’d started adding color in… each picking one for the other, and trying to one-up the choice from the last time.

“Yes. Is perfect, I see and know is right one.” Tater smiled. “Maybe you in dry, dusty desert and look at toes… make you think of water. Or make you think of Providence waterfront… or of me,” Tater added. “Either way, make you smile.”

Kent smiled now. “Good choice, big guy. Thanks.”

“You make me smile too, Kenosha.”

* * *

 

Bitty drove back to their apartment. The drive itself was silent and tense, Jack staring moodily out the window, hunched over. Bitty knew better than to try and talk to him, which, now that he thought about it, rankled just a little. He knew Jack was upset… and when it was connected to his anxiety, or something tangible, like a loss… he could understand, absolutely. But this? There was absolutely nothing to be upset about… just Kent Parson happening to exist in the same building for a little while. Kent Parson being friends with one of his friends.

If he was mad about missing dinner, shouldn’t he have told Bitty to make the reservation later? Or at least suggested changing the night to one where he had an off day. Something. There was nothing to be this grumpy about, nothing that wasn’t his own dang fault.

Bitty rolled his eyes and put his focus on the road, getting them home in twenty minutes.

“Honey?” he said. “Honey, we’re here.”

Jack didn’t answer, but he did get out of the car, popping the trunk to grab his gym bag, and then heading inside. All the way up the elevator, he was still silent. He glared at the elevator buttons like each one had personally checked him into the boards and scored against Snowy in double overtime. Bitty shifted from foot to foot, the air in the elevator feeling thicker than it ever had.

* * *

 


	3. Spoiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty asked Kent a lot of tough questions, but received honest answers for every single one. Now, he knows that he needs to ask tough questions of someone else. His encounter with Kent didn't go at all like he planned, and Bitty wonders if talking to Jack will be just as unpredictable.

* * *

 

_Bitty shifted from foot to foot, the air in the elevator feeling thicker than it ever had._

* * *

Once they got inside, Jack dropped his bag by the door, and finally spoke. “I’m going to take a nap. Let me know when dinner’s ready.”

Bitty stood by the door for a minute. Then two. “All right, hon,” he said softly, long after Jack had left the hallway. He hung up his coat, then slowly walked into the kitchen, feeling like his shoes were stuck in molasses. He absentmindedly flipped through his recipe cards and cookbooks, trying to find something he felt like making tonight. But there was nothing. He didn’t feel like cooking a single one of his recipes.

With a shock so big that seemed to drop his heart from his chest, Bitty realized that he didn’t feel like cooking. Which is why he had made reservations in the first place. He had been cooking so much lately. For Jack, for the Falcs, for half the team management by now. And he was happy to do it, of course… but he was burned out. He wanted one night where someone else did the work. And the dishes. A night to just be able to eat the food.

And when they’d missed their reservation, instead of offering to go anywhere else, or even to get takeout, Jack had immediately defaulted to Bitty cooking.

When they’d gotten home, he’d gone to rest, assuming that Bitty would make dinner…. And then come get him when he was through. Bitty cleared his throat, then whispered, “I’m not cooking tonight. I don’t feel like it.”

He looked up nervously, but the apartment was just as quiet as it had been a minute before. He said it louder. “I don’t feel like it. I’m not cooking tonight.”

Lord, but that felt good.

He pulled out the stack of take-out menus from their drawer of nutritionist-approved places and started flipping through, before he said, “You know what, fuck it.” Jack had to follow Nate’s diet plan… but he didn’t. Bitty pulled out his phone and flipped to a website that he’d kept buried in his favorites, but had never let himself look through, in attempt to avoid temptation.

Pearl’s Southern Comfort. And they delivered. He clicked through the online order form, selecting Cajun fries, breaded mac and cheese, hush puppies, and a large bread pudding. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right.

An hour and a half – and one very well-tipped delivery guy later – Bitty was tucking the labelled leftovers into the fridge. Packaged carefully so that Jack would know they weren’t on his diet plan, and dated, so that Bitty would know when he had to finish them by. Because he was finishing them. Pearl’s had been an excellent choice, and exactly what he needed.

Jack still hadn’t come out of the bedroom.

Well. Bitty was in no mood to deal with a large mass of grumpy again, especially after that entirely lovely dinner. He would let Jack sleep, and wake up when his body was ready. If he slept all night, then he clearly needed it. If he woke up in good time, Bitty had the approved take-out menus on the counter. And there were plenty of leftovers that were Nate-approved. Jack was in no danger of going hungry.

Bitty sat on the edge of the sofa and tapped out a review of the restaurant on Yelp… they’d fed him, and met his standards for southern cuisine. The least he could do would be to make sure everyone else knew what a gem they were. When he was through, he pulled up twitter.

A decent way down his timeline and answering tagged tweets from fans of his Food Network guest appearance on a Chopped amateurs episode, Jack stumbled from the bedroom toward the kitchen. He walked into the kitchen, then stopped at the empty countertops. “Mmm, smells good, bud. Why didn’t you get me?” Jack asked.

Without looking up from his phone, Bitty replied automatically. “Why didn’t you set an alarm?”

“Bittle.”

Bitty paused in his scrolling. True, he hadn’t meant to say that, and he certainly hadn’t meant to be so blunt – he was vividly reminded of Kent a few hours ago, who had done much the same thing – but the point was still valid. “Honey… I’m serious.” Bitty put his phone down and looked up. “Why didn’t you? By that account, I was supposed to come home after working all day in the studio kitchen, and a missed reservation that I was really looking forward to, cook dinner for you, and even wake you up for it?” Bitty didn’t want to fight. He really, really didn’t. But he had to try to put words to these feelings swirling inside him.

“I know I’ve done it before," Bitty said, "but that’s… that’s just it. I do that all the time. Honey, see? I’m always the one cooking.”

“You’re better at it than me.” Jack shrugged.

“Sweetpea, I wasn’t born this good. All right, I’ve been practicing for decades, I’ll give you that one. But Jack hun, you could practice too.”

“When? When do I have time, Bittle?” Jack wasn’t scowling, but the set of his shoulders was as tense as it had been in the elevator.

Bitty took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “You could skip an optional practice once in a while, Jack. No really, sweetie, they’re optional for a reason,” he said, heading off Jack’s usual argument. “You’re not going to miss the one crucial thing you need, or lose the team’s respect, or fall behind, or any nonsense like that. If the practice is that important, it wouldn’t be optional.”

Jack sighed, rubbing his forehead. “If this is because we missed the reservation-”

“Oh honey, it’s not. Well, it’s not just because of that. But Jack… one of the reasons I wanted to eat out is so I wouldn’t have to cook. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight,” Bitty said, trying desperately to make him explain without this getting any worse.

“But it smells like you did cook,” Jack said.

“I ordered takeout,” Bitty said. “From a new place, Pearl’s.”

“Nate said he needs to vet new places,” Jack pointed out.

Bitty sighed. “For you. Nate needs to vet new places for you.” He had to say it out loud, to stick to his decision. He had eaten the food anyway, and there was absolutely no problem with him eating wherever he wanted. “Jack honey, _you_ have a diet plan. I don’t. I can eat food from wherever I want.” His voice had gone soft and quiet at the end, but he’d said the words. “Carrie and Jane, they chirp me sometimes,” he said, “about sticking to your diet plan… they love being able to eat whatever they want.”

“If you want me to talk to them about-”

“Jack honey, you’re not listening.” Bitty knew he’d cut Jack off, but he didn’t want him to get too far down constructing an argument, or bringing people into this who didn’t need to be involved. “I’m not mad at them, and I certainly don’t need you to fight my battles for me. Not that they did anything wrong,” he added. “I know you have your diet plan. And I’ve always followed it too… but let’s be honest. I’m not an athlete anymore. I like to stay in shape, but I have no one to answer to if I don’t follow your diet plan. No weigh-ins. If I have two brownies, I’m not ‘sneaking’ anything. I can eat whatever I want.”

“Fine.” Jack’s tone was curt. “Fine, you can eat whatever you want. Bittle, I never asked you to follow my diet plan.”

“I know you didn’t honey,” Bitty said. “I’m not blaming you. I fully participated in that. And I’ll probably stick to it mostly, but… I’m not going to hold myself to it. If I want to eat junk food, I will. If- if I don’t want to cook, then I’m… then I’m not going… to.” He hadn’t ended that as strongly as he’d meant to, and he frowned at the slight tremor in his voice. There shouldn’t be a problem with not cooking.

“Does this mean that you’re not making my game-day sandwiches anymore?”

Bitty sighed, something in his chest aching, and he didn’t understand why. He was trying to tell Jack what he needed, what he wanted… and Jack was completely focused on how it would affect him. “Jack, sweetpea… I’ll do my best to make sure there’s enough stuff for game day P-B-J’s. But I know you can make one of those by yourself,” he said, smiling.

Jack didn’t smile. “I’ll heat up some leftovers then.”

Bitty went back to his phone for a few minutes while Jack puttered around the kitchen, punching the microwave buttons a bit harder than necessary. Bitty resisted the urge to get up and put whatever it was in the oven instead. Jack could make himself food. He did on roadies, right? Or he went out.

If Jack went out with the team… Bitty sighed, thinking about what else Kent had said, still scrolling but not really seeing anything. Putting aside whether or not he thought Jack really would sleep with someone else, if Jack did…would he be okay with it? He knew the familiar weight in his chest, even though he hadn’t felt it for years. Not since the early days of their relationship, when he still couldn’t quite believe it was real, that Jack had picked him. This was the fear that he might not be good enough. That he might not measure up to whatever Jack was used to, or what Jack thought he’s signed up for.

 _Do I know what I’ve signed up for?_ He thought he did. But Kent was right. Jack didn’t have a no-trade clause yet. Bitty knew that. It was one of the things Jack often cited when he gave excuses for not coming out yet. What if he got traded? What if the new team wasn’t as accepting? The league was still notoriously homophobic… what if his sexuality forced him to retire? Jack always said that he didn’t want to put that on Bitty and that he was protecting him, which was fair, and true. At least, to a certain extent. But Jack was also protecting himself. As long as he could pass for straight with ninety-nine percent of the NHL, Jack didn’t seem to have a concrete plan for correcting their assumptions.

Bitty heard Kent’s soft voice in his head, the words halting, like Kent hadn’t wanted to say them, but had been compelled to regardless.

_What if it never happens, Bittle?_

What if Jack never came out? Could he live with that? With being the secret boyfriend his whole life…. No one except their close friends actually knowing how much he meant to Jack. Seeing the tabloids and blogs always guessing which female acquaintance was secretly dating Jack Zimmermann, hearing teammates make lewd comments to Jack about his female fans. And as much as he didn’t want to think about this future, Bitty knew he had to. Because he knew with absolute certainty what the answer to Kent’s question was. If Jack never came out, could Bitty handle it?

No. No, he couldn’t. Bitty knew that he couldn’t live in the shadow of Jack’s career, with a tentative hope of being out in the open hanging over every day, getting dimmer and dimmer, until the day Jack retired, and then, even if they did come out, having everything feel hollow.

Bitty had been the first “out” NCAA hockey captain. He was out on his YouTube channel, his subscribers knew. His fans knew. Food Network had known when he agreed to do the episode with them. It had been a deal-breaker. He had insisted on being allowed to explicitly state his sexuality on television, so that any kids out there who wanted to have a career in the culinary arts knew that there was someone like them.

Even now, Bitty and Jack had to be careful about their levels of physical interaction in public, and they kept up an invisible force field of at least three feet between them if they were anywhere but the private homes of a few of their close friends.

Bitty knew that he couldn’t do this forever. He couldn’t, and after Georgia, he wouldn’t. He decided a long time ago, he owed it to himself to be exactly who he was, open and out and proud… so why wasn’t he?

Kent had said something about being caught in Jack Zimmermann’s gravity. With a weight against his chest, Bitty smiled ruefully. The metaphor was a good one. Every decision he’d made over almost a decade had revolved around Jack.

Almost quitting the hockey team. Ultimately not quitting the hockey team. Moving into the Haus. Dating Jack, obviously. Staying in Providence over that first real summer. Moving to Providence after school. Finding a part time job as a baker and cake decorator, so that he still had enough time to bake for the team, and to attend as many of Jack’s games as possible.

Staying in the closet.

He couldn’t keep doing that. Of all the things he’d promised himself on the cold and snowy morning that he’d stood in front of Shitty with his carefully written index cards, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t go back. He would do what he needed to be safe, of course. He had no desire for a repeat of the janitor’s closet. But if he had a choice, he promised himself then that he would not hide. For all the times that he’d had to pretend, to lie, to cry himself to sleep because he kept watching videos that said it got better but it wasn’t better yet, for all the other kids like him who felt just as small and alone. He would not hide.

And here he was… hiding.

There was the possibility of course, that it wasn’t safe for Jack to come out. Bitty wasn’t an idiot. He knew that whenever Jack made the announcement, there would be backlash. And disbelief. And shock, and probably a good-sized dose of horror, and some “what about the children” from the kind of people he’d grown up around, who clearly thought that all children were straight, and couldn’t comprehend how good and healthy it would be for a child to see that there was a pro player who was just like them.

It was completely possible that coming out would in fact, destroy Jack’s career.

But, as he sat here, scrolling through a dash that he wasn’t reading while Jack ate his microwaved leftovers in silence, Bitty thought about what retirement would look like for Jack, if he had to retire right this minute.

Jack would still have parents who loved him. He would still have friends, family. He would still have his apartment. He would still be a millionaire. He wouldn’t have been forced off the ice by a major injury or too many concussions.

And they wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

The Absolute Worst Case Scenario: Jack wouldn’t be playing hockey anymore, but he would be healthy and financially stable, he would have buckets of stress off his shoulders, surrounded by friends, and they wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Call him crazy, but Bitty didn’t really think that scenario sounded like anything to truly be worried about.

Of course Bitty wanted him to be able to play as long as he wanted. And that was far more likely to happen than a forced retirement. But still. The ‘worst case’ didn’t actually seem so bad, now that he’d thought about it.

Bitty looked up to see Jack standing at the kitchen island, finishing up his dinner. There was little enough left that Bitty couldn’t tell what it was that Jack had chosen to eat, but he had clearly gotten on fine. He stood up, stuffing his phone in his back pocket and slowly walked to the island, waiting until Jack made eye contact to ask the question he desperately needed an answer to.

When Jack hadn’t looked up after a minute, Bitty tested the air. “Honey?”

“Hmm.” Jack did look up now.

“I- I’ve gotta ask something.” Bitty took a deep breath. Then another. There was no set of circumstances that would make this easier. But he had to ask.

“Okay,” Jack said, gently pushing the plate away.

“Honey… are- are you-” Bitty paused, then started again. He had to phrase this right. “I need the most honest answer you can give on this… I- I don’t want you saying something because you think it’s what I want to hear, okay?”

“Bittle, okay. I can do this. Whatever it is, I promise I’ll be honest.” The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

 _There’s that word again_ , Bitty thought. Jack, you promise a lot. “Will you ever be ready to come out?”

Bitty had never really understood the expression about hearing a pin drop. His childhood home had always had some kind of noise, whether from the background of Coach watching football or hearing his mother humming down the hall. The Haus had never been that quiet. Even when he’d been alone in this very kitchen, there had always been some kind of music blaring from the speakers.

Now, there was no noise at all. Not even the sound of Jack breathing. When he finally spoke, it was not an answer to the question, like he’d promised.

“We’ve talked about this.”

“No,” Bitty said, “we haven’t. Not really, Jack. We’ve talked about vague timelines, and ‘soon’ and ‘not right now’. We’ve never… I’ve never,” he said, taking responsibility for himself, “I’ve never come right out and asked, honey. Not like this. And- and we need to talk about it.”

Instead of the tension in his shoulders easing like Bitty thought it would, Jack’s expression clouded over. “Why- what’s brought this on? We-” He stopped dead, mid-pace. “Parse,” he growled. “He put you up to this? That asshole, poking his nose where it’s not-”

“Jack honey. No,” Bitty said, stepping in front of Jack. He had to derail this train of thought before it got any further. “You can’t blame Kent for this. I- I promised myself ages ago that if I had a choice, I wouldn’t hide. And honey, I’ve been hiding.”

Jack’s face was thunderous. “Since when do you call him ‘Kent’?”

 "Calm down, Jack," Bitty said, his voice wavering. It had been years since Jack had spoken to him like this. "It's his name, for goodness' sake!"

"You've never called him that before. Never," Jack said, fingers clenching and unclenching as he stared at the dirty dishes on the counter. “What the fuck did he say to you?”

Bitty worried at his lower lip, knowing that he would have to admit it at some point. It might as well be sooner rather than later, and he really wanted to stop this from getting ugly.

“Jack, I did talk to him while I was waiting for you-”

“I knew it!” Jack’s fist hitting the counter made Bitty jump. Jack didn’t notice. “Just because he’s alone and can’t stand to see anyone else happy- I’m calling him. No-” Jack was pacing again, and talking a mile a minute. “I’ll call Tater, who knows what Parse is saying to him-”

Enough. “Jack Laurent Zimmermann, don’t you fucking dare.”

Jack stopped all right. He spun around. “Bits, what-”

“You will do no such thing.” Bitty’s voice was quiet, but there was a simmering fire underneath it. “Did you see the look on Alexei’s face when he saw Kent? Did that look like someone who was being forced?”

“Bits, Tater loves every-”

“If you took off your Kent-shaped blinders, you would have seen how happy they were to see each other,” Bitty said. “That wasn’t the bare minimum, Jack! Alexei was really happy to see him. They’ve been hanging out for years... And because we were jerks, poor Alexei felt like he couldn’t tell us about something that was making him happy.” Bitty felt the knot in his chest tighten. “Jack honey,” he said slowly, “Kent looked happy too. I-” This was hard, and he could barely get the words out, but in the last twenty minutes, he felt like he understood Kent’s side more than he ever had before. “I think you have this- this picture of someone in your head.... and Kent- he hasn’t been that someone in a while.” His hands were twisting the edge of his cardigan again. “Did- did you know Kent’s been seeing a therapist?”

“You believed him when he told you that?” Jack clearly didn’t.

Bitty bristled. “Yes, actually I did. Kent’s said some things over the years, and lord knows that he hasn’t always had manners, but he’s never lied to me. And he obviously has no reason to try and impress me,” he added. “And anyhow, he apologized.”

“He told you about that?” Jack wasn’t subconsciously making fists anymore, but he couldn’t manage to meet Bitty’s eye.

“He did. The question is Jack, why didn’t you? Honey, an apology doesn’t require forgiveness of course,” Bitty said, taking a step closer to Jack and putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Honey, he apologized to me too... Because I overheard him. I think he’s really trying, Jack.” He opened his mouth, the closed it abruptly. “But sweetpea, I can’t help but notice.... We’re about four conversations away from where we started. We’re talking about Kent, not my question.”

“Bits, we’ve talked about it. I can’t yet, you know that.”

“That’s not what I asked, Jack.” Bitty said, a prickle of annoyance worming through his normal burst of affection whenever Jack was upset. “I’m not asking you to come out today. Or tomorrow, or next month or year, even. I asked you, would you ever be ready? Jack… could you ever see yourself doing it? I mean really doing it honey,” Bitty said, dropping his hands and turning away from Jack to start pacing, waving his hands as the words kept spilling out. “Not waiting for the exact perfect moment, or hoping that all the little ducks line up… because life isn’t perfect,” he said, not sure anymore exactly where he was going, but the words kept coming, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop saying them.

“Life isn’t perfect. And we can hope and plan and pray all we want, but that won’t suddenly make the NHL real allies. I mean, most of y’all use the pride tape, and there’s all the You Can Play videos… and then one of y’all will turn around and call a ref a cocksucker because you couldn’t get away with slashing.” Bitty was getting worked up, and he could feel himself getting louder, his heart beating faster. It was like all the little injustices of the last five years were playing whack-a-mole… as soon as he got a handle on one, said it out loud and tried to stamp it out, another three popped up demanding retribution.

“I guess I just don’t understand what the big deal is, Bits. We’re out to everyone that matters.”

“We’re out to everyone that matters to you!” Bitty couldn’t help it. He exploded, whirling around in the kitchen, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. “Jack, everyone who knows is someone that you picked, when you wanted, when you felt ready!”

“What, are the guys suddenly not your friends anymore?” Jack was getting loud too.

“Of course they are, don’t you dare change the subject again! Four years ago, we only told them because I told you how trapped I felt, how lonely- how I felt like I used to feel, back in Georgia.” Bitty took a shuddering breath. “And it still feels like that, Jack. Four years ago, you said you were thinking about coming out. About telling the world about you, about us… for crying out loud Jack, it’s been four years! What’s the last puzzle piece that you’re waiting for?!”

"Bittle, when we win the Cup-"

"What if that never happens, Jack?"

Jack looked for a moment like Bitty had slapped him. Then his brows drew together again. "Don't say-"

Bitty cried out in frustration. "I couldn't give two shits about hockey superstition right now, Jack. I'm talking about our lives! There are teams out there that've never won the damn thing... What happens then? Huh? I'm serious Jack, look at me!" Bitty was breathing hard, but he waited, holding steady until Jack looked him in the eye.

"If you never win the Stanley Cup, are you planning on being in the closet forever?" Bitty licked his lips. "On hiding me forever?"

"Bits. That's- it's not-" Jack growled in frustration. "It's complicated!"

"No, it isn't." Bitty's voice was thick now. "The mechanics might be, but the feelings sure aren't. Answer me this, Jack. If I hadn't said anything-"

"Bits-"

"I'm not finished." Bitty spoke firmly, cutting Jack off. "Four years ago, if I hadn't said anything... If I hadn't left you that message... would you have told anyone about us?"

The silence stretched into a minute. Then two. Five.

"Or would you have gone on pretending that you were single and straight, and that I was just your old teammate? Jack... did you even notice how much I was hurting? Lord," Bitty said, tipping his head back to stop the tears from falling, "shouldn't the fact that I had to tell you in a voicemail have meant something? It took weeks to get the courage up, and then I still couldn't say it to your face."

“And I did what you asked, didn’t I?” Jack asked. “You wanted people to know, they’ve known for years!”

“Sure, Jack.” Bitty couldn’t believe Jack was still not getting this. “Our parents know. Some of our friends. But to anyone else on the planet? You live alone, and you’re just as straight as ever.”

“Damn it, Bittle,” Jack yelled, “you don’t get to make decisions about my life for me!”

The noise that came out of Bitty’s mouth was halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I’m not asking to,” he said. “But why can’t you see that that’s exactly what you’re doing to me?”

“What?” Jack spluttered. “How can you say-”

Bitty smiled mirthlessly. “Don’t tell me you can’t see it. You’re telling me not to make decisions about your life for you, fine. But you’re telling me that I can’t be as out as I want to be, that I can’t tell people where I live or who I love, because someone might say that you’re not as good as your father.”

“Bittle!”

Bitty flinched, but made himself look back up.

Jack hadn’t looked at him like this in years, maybe ever. “Don’t you get it? Coming out could mean that I have to quit! What if no one wants me anymore?!”

“What happened to, ‘Bits, we’re out to everyone that matters’?” Bitty crossed his arms. “If the NHL’s opinion matters to you, and you’re not out to them, then you’re not out to everyone that matters, Jack.” He sighed, his eyes stinging with the effort of not crying. “Is that what you’re saying?” he asked. “That coming out to the NHL isn’t something that matters, because you’re not planning to? Jack… I promised myself that I wouldn’t hide who I was, I did enough of that. I don’t want to do it anymore.” He wiped his eyes. “How can you not see that this… me staying in the closet to make your life easier… you being the one who decides when we come out, who we tell, how we do it… you’re the one making all those decisions for my life?”

“Bittle, I can’t-”

“Can’t what?” The anger returned at hearing that word come out of Jack’s mouth. “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, is an acknowledgment to the world that you care about me. Why is that so hard? So what if you can’t play hockey anymore?” Bitty’s hands balled into fists. He was shaking. “So you’re rich, happy, healthy, and you have friends, family, and a partner who loves you! So what if that means you can’t play hockey anymore?!”

A memory from this very kitchen swam into Bitty’s mind. When Jack was talking about another relationship… another secret, with another boy who loved him, but couldn’t compete with Jack’s first obsession. “Am I always going to have to live my life around your hockey?” Bitty couldn’t believe he was saying this. But he had to know. “Do _we_ have an expiration date, Jack?”

* * *

 


	4. Viva Las Vegas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty keeps pushing, and so does Jack. Neither bends.... and when that happens, something is bound to crack.   
> ____
> 
> Kent gets home, cuddles the two greatest cats in existence, and then wakes up to the biggest surprise he's had in ten years.

* * *

 

 _"Do_ we _have an expiration date, Jack?"_

* * *

 

The words were out before he’d even realized he planned to say them, but he wouldn’t take them back. He couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to. Now that the question had been asked, he needed an answer.

The silence stretched on. Bitty felt like the air around him was getting thicker and thicker with all the things they weren’t saying, but he refused to be the one to break the quiet. He’d been the one to always step in, to compromise, to give up something… everything that had happened with them had always been on Jack’s schedule. This? This answer would have to come now. Bitty didn’t want to wait any longer- couldn’t wait any longer. He should have asked the question hen he'd heard Jack say that about Kent. Bitty had wanted to, but back then, he couldn't bring himself to say the words in case he heard the answer he dreaded. But now, he couldn't let the question go unasked any longer. He deserved to know.

Jack still hadn’t said anything. His shoulders were moving up and down with each breath he took, heavy enough to be noticeable, but Bitty knew what an anxiety attack looked like, and this wasn’t it. This was Jack being stubborn. Even if he didn’t have the exact words to say what he wanted, he could at least say something.

Bitty felt his eyes filling with tears, and he blinked, feeling them run down his face. He didn’t have the energy to lift a hand to his face to wipe them away. Every second, he felt the lump in his throat get tighter, pressing down, the tightness in his chest pushing down and feeling like his lungs were crushing his heart.

“Bittle…” Jack finally spoke up. “I- I can’t tell you what you want to hear.”

Bitty’s voice cracked, but he pushed the words out. “I’m not asking you to do that… I just want you to be honest with me.” He took a shaky breath. “Just answer the question.”

Jack was still frowning. “Can we talk about this later? It’s been a long day.”

“I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, Jack.” Bitty leaned his weight on the counter, wrists taking the brunt, since his legs felt like jelly.

Jack had been headed to his bedroom, but stopped in his tracks. “Can’t do what?”

Bitty closed his eyes. It was easier to speak that way. “I can’t- I can’t keep putting off conversations we need to have, because you had a long day.” He breathed in, and let it out slowly. “I can’t keep putting life decisions on hold because we might have to move someday.” Bitty took another. “I can’t stay in the closet. Not indefinitely. Not when there’s no plan to get out. I can’t-” his voice broke, but he kept going, before he lost his nerve. “I can’t keep playing second fiddle to hockey. If… if there’s one thing in your life that you’d do anything for, it- it should be me,” he said, his voice shaking. It was still new, to believe that he deserved that, to believe he was that special, that worthy. But he wouldn’t take it back. “It should be me,” he said again, “and if it’s not- if it’s not, I need to know now.”

“I’m not doing this.”

Bitty looked up. “Jack, what-”

“I’m not doing it. I’m not having this conversation with you when Parse has twisted you all up with this bullshit.” Jack grabbed his keys from the bowl by the counter. “I’m going for a run, I’ll be back later.”

The door closed with a heavy thud, not quite a slam. It might as well have been, for all the finality it carried into Bitty’s heart.

* * *

Jack,

I meant everything I said tonight. ~~I need~~ I didn’t say any of it because Kent put me up to it, or filled my head with nonsense, or anything else that you said. It was me. It came from ~~a place~~ a part of myself that I’ve been hiding for a couple years now… I haven’t wanted to seem clingy, or needy… and I guess I was just so happy that ~~you wanted me~~ we were together, that I got blinded to a lot of other things, and had made a whole lot of compromises before I knew what I was doing.

I’m gonna go spend a few days with my parents. I’m not trying to punish you, or anything like that… I need this. ~~I don’t~~ I’m not sure how long this is going to be… I think I need some space. This could be good… it can give ~~me~~ us both some time to think. ~~I need you to~~ I still need an answer, Jack. I need to know that there’s a plan for us… one that we make together, and stick to, whether it’s the “perfect time” or not.

I’ll always love you,

Bitty

* * *

Writing the letter was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, even harder than deciding what to pack into his carry-on suitcase. In the end, he only threw in a pair of jeans and a couple t-shirts. And Señor Bun. Bitty couldn’t do this without him. One of the shirts was from his job-which made him want to luagh and cry in equal turns-almost everything else he had reminded him of Jack, and he wanted a few days where he wouldn’t have to think about any of this.

Bitty folded the letter into thirds, wrote “Jack” on the outside, and then stuck it on the fridge, where he knew that Jack would go first after coming back from his run. He wanted to get out of the apartment before he came back, otherwise Jack might talk him into staying. On some level, he knew that this was a sign of how screwed up things had gotten, that just Jack’s presence would be enough to make him change his mind and alter his plans… but he would think about that later.

Pulling out his phone as he locked up, Bitty called for a lyft to the airport. He dropped the keys into the inner pocket of his coat, zipped it up, and headed downstairs, resolving not to think about Jack Zimmermann for a while.

* * *

 

Kent rolled his shoulders, sore from the nearly eight hour flight. There was something to be said about the mental benefits of direct flights, but he would have to debate with his physical therapist whether it was really worth it. His back disagreed, whatever Tabby said about it being good luck to sit in the clouds for that long. Goalies were weird, and their advice should only be taken in very specific situations. Especially his.

Ugh, he missed his cats. And his bed. After a week and a half up and down New England, he just wanted these three days to last forever. Especially the part where he was asleep, preferably curled up with his cats. In his bed. 

Kent let himself in, glancing at the automatic feeder bowls and almost tripping over Purrs as he came to greet him. “Hey buddy, let me get inside before you kill me, huh? That way, you can eat my face in peace.”

Kent bent down, giving him a scratch. He laughed as the little cat lived up to his name, letting out a loud rumble. “Where’s your sister?” If Kent had to guess, he would say she was sitting right in the middle of his giant bed, lording over her realm while he was gone.

He slung his gym bag and suitcase off near the door, and headed for the bedroom, shaking his head when he saw Kit, exactly where he thought she would be. She looked up, then let out a cry and wiggled before pouncing into his waiting arms and pushing her head against his neck and face, purring hard. Kent held her close, fingers running through her soft fur. “I missed you too, princess,” he whispered, cuddling her. “Naptime, baby, okay?”

She meowed, sounding like this was the obvious course of action.

“Whatever you say, princess.” Kent climbed into bed, shucking off his shoes, but not bothering with anything else. He patted the bed. “Come on up, buddy… sleepytime.” His jaw cracked in a giant yawn and he fell back on his many pillows with an exaggerated show, laughing when Purrs padded his little feet all the way up the bed, plopping down to curl up by his side. Kit circled on the pillow by his head, carefully pushing the down around until it was perfect, then settling herself right by his head.

“Good to be home,” Kent said. “You two all set?”

Purrs squeaked, and Kit batted his forehead with one paw.

“Love you too, girl.” Kent let the tension from the plane seep from his shoulders as he relaxed into his pillows, comforter pulled up around him and blackout curtains drawn, with no intention of caring about anything for the next few hours. He was happy, he was warm, and he was home.

* * *

 

“Mmmm…” Kent groaned. “Five more minutes…”

Wait.

That wasn’t his alarm tone. It wasn’t Britney. Fuck….. did Swoops change his alarm tones again? Kent rubbed his eyes and rolled over, dislodging Purrs from where he’d hooked himself into Kent’s tee shirt. He fumbled for his phone in the dark, then winced at the brightness, swearing when he dropped the heavy phone on his face.

It wasn’t country music… which meant it probably hadn’t been Swoops. He always thought that was hilarious. Kent’s sleepy eyes finally came into focus, and when he read the name on his screen, he dropped his phone again. Sitting up and rubbing his eyes harder, he looked at the screen again, though by now the noise had stopped, his screen going dark again.

“Ow,” he said, squinting again at how bright the screen was before reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp. Kent picked up his phone, and nearly dropped it when it started ringing again. No Britney. No country. Wait… that was Beyoncé. Beyoncé.

Only one person in his entire rolodex had a Bey ringtone… for a reason. He had never ever expected to actually get a call from him. He’s just thought that the ring tone was a funny reminder. And if he ever did call, he would know right away who it was, without having to look.

As ‘Flawless’ came to an end for a second time, Kent swore again. His thumb hovered on his lock screen… should he call back? Wait to see if he left a message? The burden of choice was taken from him when the phone ran again. If he was calling three times in a row, this was intentional, not a butt dial. Kent answered.

“Um… hi, Eric.”

“Oh!” Bittle sounded nervous through the phone, but Kent supposed that could have been the phone speakers.

“You okay?” he asked. “Did… did you mean to call me?” Shit, that sounded awful. “It’s totally okay that you did,” he rushed out, “I mean it. Totally fine. I uh, I just woke up,” he said, running a hand through his hair and rolling his neck.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to wake you, I just- this was so dumb, I’ll… I’ll just- pretend you never-” Bitty made a strange sound that Kent couldn’t quite make out. “Ignore me, I’m such an idiot-”

Silence. Kent took the phone away from his ear, more confused than ever. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t work out what. After considering it for roughly three and a half seconds, he called Bittle back.

He sounded breathless when he picked up. “Hello? Oh Kent… it’s- it’s you.”

“Eric… you called me,” he said slowly, trying not to spook him. “Look, just because I didn’t expect it, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t okay. I’m- I’m working through a bit of sleep here, so I’m sorry if that didn’t come across?” Kent thought hard. He knew he’d said something about staying in touch with Eric as they’d all been leaving the arena, and Eric had been far nicer about it than Kent had expected… but he still hasn’t expected a phone call within twenty-four hours. “Eric, you still there?”

“I uh…” There was a thready laugh from the other side of the phone. “I’m here, all right.”

And there was that sense again, something was not right. Kent felt something stir in his stomach, like how he felt about his rookies whenever they looked out at the Vegas Strip for the first time, looking all lost and overwhelmed, and trying desperately to prove how strong they were. Just like he'd been. “Eric, where are you?”

“Um. Don’t be mad, okay?” Eric’s voice was small, smaller than he’d ever heard it.

“I won’t be, whatever it is. You can tell me, okay?” His mom had said those words to him, and to his sister, and they worked now, just like they had then.

“Um…. Outside your door?”

Of all the wild responses his brain had been supplying, that had not even been in the ballpark. Kent was momentarily stunned dumb, and he heard Eric talking again.

“See, I told you it was dumb- seriously forget I-”

“No, no- I’ll be right there, give me a sec.” Kent jumped out of bed, momentarily grateful that he’d gone to take his nap fully clothed, and jogged out to the door, trying not to trip on his discarded clothes and luggage as he went. Yanking his shirt and shorts into some semblance of decently dressed, he opened his door to see-

Nothing. What?

He shook his head, then stepped out into the hall. Sure enough, about twenty feet down the corridor, towards the elevators, was Eric Bittle, looking extremely nervous.

“Hey man, I live in this one,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and good-natured. He waved Bittle closer. “Come on in, before the cats make a break for it.”

“Are… are you sure?”

Ignoring the crack in Bittle’s voice, Kent smiled. “Yes, Eric. I’m sure. Come on, it’s okay.”

Eric reached behind him and grabbed a small suitcase, then walked down the hall.

Eric Bittle was here, in Vegas, with a suitcase. And without Jack Zimmermann.

Oh….. _shit_.

Something had to have gone down, and by the look of things, it wasn’t anything good… but therapy was teaching him to let people tell him things in their own time. Jumping to conclusions was never a good strategy. Besides, if their earlier conversation – fuck, was it only yesterday? – was anything to go by, Kent had done enough of poking his nose into Eric’s life and business….

Kent smiled at him, carefully ushering him inside, bending down to scoop Purrs up as he streaked past, intent on investigating the elevator. He made his displeasure known with a very loud and indignant scream, catching Eric’s attention.

“Oh… he’s adorable,” Eric said, his big eyes going soft as Purrs got a look at this new person and tried to escape Kent’s grasp to make sure this stranger was as interesting as he looked.

Kent chuckled. “Yeah, he is that. Loud little fucker too,” he said fondly, stroking his grey head with one finger. He looked at Eric. “You wanna hold him?” Kittens had therapeutic powers, and Kent had a sneaking suspicion that Eric needed them.

“Sure… I mean, if it’s all right,” Eric said.

Kent made no verbal reply, only handing the kitten over and laughing when Purrs tried to climb up Eric’s cardigan.

The same cardigan he’d been wearing yesterday. Fuck…. Something had to have gone seriously wrong. Keeping his tone casual as Eric cooed over his kitten, he took the suitcase from behind him and tucked it into the hall alcove. “You wanna sit down? If there’s anything you want to eat or drink or whatever… I mean, I know I’m nowhere near as good in the kitchen as you, but my mom did teach me some manners,” he said. “I can make some tea, or coffee if you want…. Or there’s a Starbucks in the building downstairs if you want me to order up something? Um. I'm not sure how hungry you are, and even in first class, airplane food is shit." Kent rubbed the back of his neck. "There's like, a metric fuck-ton of takeout menus in the drawer over there,” he gestured vaguely.

But apparently, this was exactly the wrong this to say, as Eric’s whole face crumpled and his eyes filled with tears.

“Whoa, whoa,” Kent said softly, by his side in a couple steps. He gently put an arm around Eric’s shoulder and guided him to the couch. “Easy… just sit, it’s okay. Whatever I said, man, I’m sorry…. We don’t have to do any of that if you don’t want to.” He was at a bit of a loss here… Swoops was way better at this helping-other-people-with-their-emotions stuff than he was… but Kent didn’t think he could exactly call his best friend and ask him to show up to comfort his ex-boyfriend’s boyfriend. Yeah. That would go over well. 

Eric sniffed, his shoulders shaking lightly.

Kent gave them a squeeze. “It’s okay, Eric. You just sit here and pet my cat, it’s all gonna be okay.”

Eric laughed, but it came with more tears than laughs usually had. “Lord, this is not how I pictured this going.”

Kent dared to ask, “How did you picture this going?”

Eric kept petting Purrs, who was thoroughly enjoying the attention. “On the green couch in my parents’ house in Georgia?”

Kent whistled. “Okay… so the charcoal futon in my Vegas penthouse is pretty different. I’ll give you that one.”

Eric snorted. “You could just say ‘dark grey’ you know.”

Kent smirked, leaning back and putting his arm along the back, close enough that Eric could lean into the touch if he wanted, but far enough away that it was non-threatening. Swoops had taught him that one. “I’ll have you know that my stylist said charcoal is very in right now.”

Eric laughed again. It was nice. And much better than the horribly sad look that had been on his face a few minutes ago.

“Look,” Kent said, “you are under no obligation to tell me anything about what went down, or how your pilot got lost and ended up here instead of in Georgia,” he counted it as a win when Eric smiled, “but I just want to say that if you wanna talk about it, I’m- well, I’m still working on the whole being a super supportive friend thing? And knowing the right thing to say, thing… but if you want to think out loud or anything, I can at least sit here and listen.”

Bitty’s hand stilled over Purrs’ back and he let out a loud meow. Bitty jumped slightly, but smiled. “Your daddy was right, huh? You are loud.”

Kent smiled, but stayed quiet, letting Eric set the tone.

After a heavy sigh, he spoke. “I’d meant to get on a plane to Georgia… but I found myself buying one for McCarran instead. I got to the airport, and the more I thought about having to explain all this to my mama…. I didn’t know if she’d understand, you know? Lord, she has a hard enough time understanding my being gay… and bein’ okay with living with a guy when I’m not married to him, and not being out and all. Which, hey,” he said, a short laugh escaping his chest, “looks like I’m not after all, Mama, you were right.” He sighed. “I just didn’t want to have to say those words to her, I really couldn’t handle an ‘I told you so, Dicky’ right now. And if there was anyone who would understand, I figured it might be you…” Bitty trailed off, looking up, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

There was a whole lot of information in that explanation. So of course, Kent went with, “Your mom calls you Dicky?”

Eric smiled. “There’s about six soap opera seasons’ worth of dirt in there, and that’s what you get stuck on?”

Kent shrugged. “That one seems like the best blackmail material.” His smile was easy, and Bitty mirrored it.

“Thanks, Kent.”

“For what?” He genuinely had no idea how that was somehow the correct thing to say in this situation.

“I don’t know?” Bitty looked just as confused as Kent felt. “For letting me in… for letting me pet your cat.” He nuzzled the kitten’s nose. “For not making me feel crazy, and for not saying you told me so? All of it, I guess?”

Kent went pale. All the things he’d said yesterday… and now Eric was here… in Vegas, with no Jack. “Fuck,” he said, “I’m so sorry…”

“For what?” Eric echoed.

“Jeez, all the shit I said to you… about looking at your life and your choices like some episode of Sassy Gay Friend… fuck, I- I didn’t do this, did I?”

* * *

 


	5. Pies, White Lies, and Blue Morning Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent finally manages to get Eric to tell him what the hell he's doing in Vegas. Kent understands, really. He does. He totally gets what force drove him from Providence. He just doesn't understand what pulled Eric here. 
> 
> Jack has practice looking at the world like he's a camera. Only right now, it feels like there's a whole set of audio/visual cues for his life that someone forgot to turn back on. 
> 
> Bitty likes Vegas way more than he thought he would. He's not sure if it's the skylines, the felines, or something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all... so this chapter is a smidge longer than the others. (And I have a dear friend who has a Sad. Honey, you know who you are... this one's for you <3

* * *

 

_“Jeez, all the shit I said to you… about looking at your life and your choices like some episode of Sassy Gay Friend… fuck, I- I didn’t do this, did I?”_

* * *

Eric though, he didn’t get upset or angry, he didn’t give Kent the slap he truly felt like he deserved. He just let out a laugh. “You and Jack… you both think this is your fault, huh? Wow.”

Now Kent was more confused than ever. “What?”

“Jack thought you worked some evil ex-boyfriend mumbo-jumbo and made me get all upset with him.”

Kent gulped.

“Get that idea out of your head, Mr. Parson, before I have to yell at you too. You did no such thing. You told me a lot of things… some of them may not have been in the nicest way-”

“Seriously, I’m so sorry-”

“But,” Eric continued, unfazed, “it was all actually stuff that I’d been trying to run from and not think about for a good long while now.”

“It- Wait, what?” Was it possible that he really hadn’t been the one to fuck this up?

“Yeah,” Eric said. “You were right, I just didn’t want to hear it, and I especially didn’t want to hear it from you. Don’t you dare apologize,” he said, wagging a finger and Kent put his hands up in a placating gesture. Eric continued. “Things have been kinda percolating for a while… and Jack had kept on saying we’d come out soon, everything I wanted was ‘soon’… but we never set a date for any of it. I-” his face went a bit pink again, “I sometimes thought he’d be about to do something real romantic or special… like, maybe propose or something. We had this big party up at his folks’ house in Montréal-” Eric seemed to remember who he was talking to, and abruptly went silent.

“It’s okay, Eric… I’m a grown up, I can hear you talk about Jack. Therapy really works,” he said, “Y’know, provided that it’s with the right person and everything.” He shrugged. “I kinda thought you two were like, Hallmark levels, though. At least in private,” he said. “But yeah… you were right, I definitely get what it’s like to be revolving around Jack and suddenly thrown out of orbit.”

Eric nodded. “That’s about the lay of it. I just… kinda got on the plane? I didn’t think about what I was gonna do when I got here until I was somewhere over Utah.”

Kent thought of something. “How’d you get my address? Oh,” he snapped his fingers, “that pie... the cherry one you sent for my thirtieth,” he said. “With-”

“Jalapeño in the filling,” Eric finished. “Sorry about that. But yeah, I had it in my phone. I um, may have told the doorman that I was your cousin?” he said, having the good grace to look sheepish. “We look enough alike, and I guess you’re private enough about your address that your doorman didn’t question it.”

“Yeah, Felix knows I’m unlisted. And that my publicist and the team GM have three fake addresses for me… and that my mail mostly gets delivered to either the arena or my P.O. Box.”

“Wow,” Eric said. “All that trouble?”

“I grew up with the Zimmermanns. I saw what assholes do to famous people… and what being followed by the paps did to Jack. I never wanted that for me.” Kent said it matter-of-factly, but it was true. That was why he’d done all of this.

“Oh,” Eric said… “R-right. Um, look, if you want me to go, I understand-”

Kent shook his head, holding up his hands. “Nah, Eric. You’re good. I promise,” he said. “Besides, at this point, I don’t think Purrs is going to let you leave.” He said, pointing to his cat, who had made himself at home on Eric’s lap.

Eric laughed, almost despite himself. He leaned down to nuzzle Purrs' soft grey fur. "He's precious." he gave Kent a little half smile. "I always knew you had cats, but I have to admit, I couldn't ever really picture it."

Kent put a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "You mean you're not following them on Instagram? Oh my god, something on social media that Eric Bittle isn't doing." For a split second, he worried that maybe he'd crossed a line - after all, he and Eric weren't particularly on 'chirping' terms... but Eric just threw back his head and laughed. 

Kent couldn't help the grin that spread like honey across his face, soft and sweet and smooth. It was much easier to laugh with Eric than he had ever thought. Well, that was sort of a lie. He had never really given any serious thought to laughing with Eric, or what it would be like to have Eric on his couch. If he'd thought that about anyone, it would have been about Alexei. But he didn't have to wonder about that anymore, since Alexei had actually been over and slept on his couch more than once. 

Before he could go too far down that path- because that way lie feelings that he wasn't ready to admit existed, let alone examine closely, he got up and stretched, sparing a fond smile for Purrs as he tracked Kent's movements. "So, I don't know if you thought about any plans or whatever on the plane... which, hey, like. Either way is fine? But if you want to do the touristy junk, I can either find someone to show you around... Swoops' sister would probably be happy to play tour guide. Or maybe Mags’ brother. Or if you want to hang here, that's cool too." Shit, what if he was totally doing this whole 'comforting friend' thing wrong? 

Eric smiled that sheepish-looking grin again. It turned out that he hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said that he booked the flight last minute. Right up until he'd gotten to the airport, Eric had intended on going to see his parents. When Eric had said he certainly wouldn't mind doing the touristy stuff, if only to take his mind off of the mess he'd left behind, he asked Kent if he would take him. 

"You... you want me to do that?"

"Oh lord," Eric said, "you probably have games and practices and whatnot. I'm- I'm sorry... look at me," he said softly, "running away from Providence because I'm tired of arranging my life around hockey, and ending up smack dab in the arms of another hockey player." 

Kent flushed a dark pink. Unfortunately, Eric noticed. 

"Oh honey, I'm sorry if I- well, I didn't mean it like that... I just meant, you know, that this is where I wound up going." 

Kent sighed with relief, his shoulders feeling about fifteen pounds lighter than they had only minutes before. If Zimms thought that he'd stolen his boyfriend, Kent wouldn't make it out alive. To be honest, Kent wasn't sure how he was going to navigate the whole, "your boyfriend ran away from you and came to see me instead of his mom" thing without some kind of serious bloodshed either. He was almost surprised that Zimms hadn't thrown a punch when he'd found out that Kent was spending so much time with Alexei. Or that he hadn't at least gotten a cease and desist phone call from him afterward. 

After some lighthearted bickering, they decided that Kent would go to the gym like he always did, and brunch out with a couple of the guys, also like he always did after a roadie, giving Eric some time to sort out his thoughts, and figure out exactly what he wanted to do. More in the short term, though Kent knew that the question of what Eric wanted in the long term would have to come up eventually.

Privately, Kent felt like Eric might already have his answer, if he chose to look at what he'd done. Kent had managed to get out, in between getting dressed for the gym and Eric somehow making him a workout smoothie from the random contents of his fridge, that Eric had put some serious questions to Jack, which he had refused to answer, citing a number of things, including Kent's own influence. 

That part might not be entirely wrong, but it wasn't malicious like Jack clearly believed. 

Kent sighed. Eric was clearly content to keep petting his cat, and no doubt Kit would eventually come to investigate once her jealousy over the attention Purrs was getting outweighed her sense of distrust for anyone who wasn’t Kent. It had taken Alexei a couple trips to make friends with her.

Shit. He didn’t know how long Eric was planning on staying. He almost opened his mouth to ask, but then thought better of it, hiding the move with a big stretch. Eric just got here, and this clearly hadn’t been planned. He could cross that bridge later. The same went for telling Zimmermann that his boyfriend wasn’t actually with his parents, and had run to him instead.

Yeah… this was gonna be a nightmare. Kent didn’t want to push Eric out though. Not after he’d said that he understood. That had to be like, against the rules of being the comforting friend, right? Though, for that to happen, Eric would have to classify him as ‘friend’, and Kent wasn’t sure that was ever going to happen.

* * *

Jack kicked his shoes off by the door, probably harder than was strictly necessary. He didn’t care. Bitty wasn't here to ask him why he was tense, or to massage his shoulders. Or to fuss that the entry hall was a mess. Throwing his hat on the hall table, he went into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee that had brewed while he was on his run.

His kitchen was quiet. No music. No smell of anything but his slightly bitter coffee. He let it cool on the counter for a moment while he reheated some leftover omelette. Things were quiet now. Muted. But it was okay. Bittle would come back. A few days, maybe a week at most. There were only two more days of leftovers in the fridge. Jack had already eaten through four days' worth. There was a pie and a half in the freezer that he had not touched. And wouldn't. Not unless any of the team came over and were desperate for a piece.

Bittle's letter hadn't said whether he had made anything for the team, and there was only one more peanut butter and jelly sandwich left in the fridge. He would eat that tonight. Before the game. And he would text Bittle. Like always. And Bittle would text him back. A few days in Georgia to cool off from dealing with Parse was fine. It was okay. It was what they both needed, that's what the letter said.

He would eat the sandwich tonight, and Bittle would be back before he needed to make another one. The team wouldn't need to know that he was gone. Everything would go back to normal.

* * *

Five days. It had been five days, almost six, since he'd landed in Las Vegas. And Bitty had no idea when he planned on going back to the east coast. Logically, theoretically, he knew he would have to at some point. Nearly everything he owned was there.

He shook his head abruptly. _Jack_ was there too. He wasn't sure why he was thinking like this. He loved Jack.

The time out here had been really great though. Kent had been wonderful… Offering his guest room - if Bitty had wanted it - for as long as he needed. Kent had explained that he wasn't hosting a rookie, so the room was definitely up for grabs. And if any of the team came over and wanted to stay, there was always the giant sofa bed in his media room.

Bitty had clicked his tongue one morning when he'd gone in to tidy up and seen Jeff Troy, Sergei Kovalchuk, and Jeremy Nipton all passed out in various places around the room. Though, when his gaze made it to Kent, curled up like a cat next to Jeff, close, but not actually touching… almost like he was afraid to be that close and take that much comfort from him… Bitty felt something inside his chest clench up. He couldn't explain it.

Just like he couldn't explain why, when the four of them had stumbled out to the kitchen to find Bitty cooking up eggs, pancakes, toast, and proper southern grits and hash browns, the others had fallen on the food with cries of joy and thanks… but Kent had almost looked like he was going to cry. He cleaned his plate too. Bless him.

They all did. And they all took seconds as soon as they were through with their first helpings. All Except Kent. Kent quietly got up and carried his plate toward the sink.

"You still hungry?" Bitty had asked softly.

Kent looked like a deer caught in headlight. "It's fine, I can help clean up."

Bitty had sighed, tugged the plate from his hands and loaded it with another heaping helping of potatoes and eggs. "Y'all have a game tonight," he said, nodding at the calendar on the fridge. That day had a double underline beneath the date, and a filled in spade. "Home game. That's what that means, right?" When Kent had nodded, Bitty smiled. "Eat up. I'll make y'all do dishes later."

Smiling now, thinking about these boys, and how all of them had eagerly cleaned up the kitchen - Jeff had even wiped down the counters, sweetheart that he was - Bitty set about making a fresh pot of coffee. Kent would probably be waking up soon. Bitty sighed at the Vegas skyline out Kent's windows, the sun still low in the sky. His brain was still on east coast time, and for once he could manage to get up early.

True to form, Kent padded softly into the kitchen, mumbling a soft hello to Bitty as he greeted his cats.

"Don't listen to him," Bitty said, nodding at the grey ball of fluff. "His meow is a lie, he's been fed. So has Kit."

Kent's smiles in the morning were so soft. Nothing at all like the cocky, careless grins he always flashed the media. "Thanks," Kent said. "You know," he added as he went about the kitchen, grabbing plates and cups and cutlery, setting two places at the kitchen island, "you don't have to do any of this… It- it's really nice," he said. "And I definitely appreciate it. But like, you don't have to earn your keep or anything. I meant what I said about you staying for however long you wanted… Also, um. I'm pretty loaded, so it's not like I'm hard up for cash or anything." He shrugged, looking almost apologetic, like he was sorry that he made so much money.

"Don't be silly, I like helping out." It was true.

Kent put his spoon down, ignoring his coffee. Oh… this was serious. Kent always had his coffee exactly the same way every morning, and usually drank at least a cup and a half before he resembled a functioning human. Bitty put down his spatula, turning down the heat on the eggs so he could give Kent his full attention. "What?" he said gently, not wanting to push him, though he did want Kent to know he was listening.

And there was that tiny soft smile again. "Eric… helping out is like, doing the dishes, or like, folding the blanket on the back of the couch. No, no," he said hurriedly. "I'm not telling you to do more, man… You're already doing like, way more than necessary. You're keeping me company, and taking care of my cats, and feeding me… Seriously, this food is like, four star restaurant quality. If not five," he said. 

Bitty went pink. He knew he was good in the kitchen, but Kent was someone who actually ate at four and five-star restaurants on the regular. And by now, he knew that Kent didn't give compliments that he didn't mean. "Well, thanks honey," he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. "I- I s'pose I just know what I'm good at, and I'm good at feeding people."

Kent bit his lip.

"It's okay, Kent… Whatever it is, you can say it."

After a deep breath, Kent said the words very quickly. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to." There was a pause, and then, "and I want to pay you for it. So do the guys."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm serious, Eric. I just said it, we absolutely can afford it. And for all intents and purposes, you've been a personal chef for like, a week." Kent paused. "You… You know that's like, an actual… real live career, right? You could cook for people. In their kitchens, in their houses… and they would pay you for that privilege. Eric, in exchange for getting to eat your food, they would pay you."

"Kent-"

"Dude, half the guys on the team have personal chefs. Nippers can barely cook to save his damn life," Kent said. "Ask Swoops about the Easy Mac Incident sometime, he'll agree with me, allowing that kid anywhere near a kitchen is a public health hazard."

Bitty could barely string more than three words together. Cooking was a hobby- it was just a stress relief mechanism… it wasn't a real career option for him, it's not like… Well. Was it? "You- you really think I could?"

Kent's answering nod was fierce. "Yes. Yes, I do. Watching you in here… it's… I can't really explain it. It's… like magic," Kent said softly. His freckles were dusted with the lightest blush, and Bitty knew this look. It meant that Kent was slightly embarrassed to be saying this, but the set of his shoulders meant that he was going to say it anyway. He'd seen Kent get like this before, notably when Kovey had been down on himself for letting a puck through the net, and Kent had assured the rookie that he hadn't been to blame, that the fault rested with him, for not stopping the Penguin's offense. "Eric," Kent said, bringing Bitty back to the present, "I've never had food like this… food that tastes like- it tastes like… home."

Kent was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat and turned to take his coffee mug, which had to be cold by now. "I uh, I'm not trying to push you into anything," he said, clearly remembering why Bitty was in his kitchen in the first place, instead of Jack Zimmermann's. "Just trying to make sure you know that there are other options." He shrugged, then made a face when he took a huge gulp of ice cold coffee.

He dumped it for a fresh cup, smiling. "I bet you tried to stop Jack from paying you too."

Bitty said it before he thought about what the words meant. "He never offered."

Kent's mug crashed into the sink, but he didn't seem to notice. He was staring at Bitty like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard

"I mean, when we were all at Samwell, most of the money in our fines basically was my grocery fund-"

"Eric, that's different, you all were a bunch of broke college kids. Jesus fuck, Jack has millions," he said. "He had millions even at Samwell! He- he-" Kent wrapped an arm around his waist, biting his lip to keep his words inside.

Bitty knew this too. He knew that Kent felt himself close to saying something he might regret, something he wasn't sure he had a right to say. He'd done this a few times in the last week, and each time had tugged at Bitty's heart. He took Kent's hands, and gently led him to the couch, where Purrs immediately jumped on his lap.

Kent nodded. "Thanks." After a minute, he said, "Eric… Jack- no. I want to start over."

Bitty nodded. "Go ahead, whenever you're ready."

Kent glanced up, his eyes so full of emotion that Bitty couldn't pick out which ones were swimming at the surface. "What you do… it's so much work," he said,

Kent's voice was ragged with something, but a part of Bitty knew that examining that might lead him somewhere he couldn't come back from. Whether he wanted to come back from that line of thought was a whole different problem… and maybe not a problem at all. But he would revisit that later. "Kent, do you know why you're upset?"

Kent nodded. "I- you're not… I feel - and this could totally just be in my head-"

"What, honey?"

"I feel like you're not being appreciated."

Bitty gasped. This wasn’t what he’d expected to hear from Kent at all.

“Honey…”

“I know.” Kent looked pained, like it was actually costing him to say these things, but just like he had a week ago, he would say them anyway. Because it would cost him more to hold them in. “I know it’s none of my business. I know I don’t get to talk to you about how to be happy, or how to be with Jack, because god damn, I royally fucked that up when I tried it. But- I just- I guess I just don’t get why he wouldn’t pay you for this. It’s… it’s a ton of work.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more. “You work so hard for people… you should be appreciated.”

Bitty sighed. Kent did such a great job of showing the media his mask – of pretending to have his life together. The perfect amount of cocky and charming, self-assured and carefree. But here, in these moments, when he hadn’t quite put the mask on for the day yet, Bitty had begun to see that Kent Parson was none of those things.

Well, all right. He was definitely charming. But not in the playboy, “you know you want me” kind of way he so carefully cultivated with every single person who shoved a camera or a microphone in his face. No. No, that wasn’t Kent at all. Kent – the real Kent – was soft and shy, and always surprised by genuine attention. Bitty knew pet names flew from his mouth, but Kent’s eyes always widened ever so slightly every time, like he was still surprised that Bitty was talking to him. Kent was charming because he loved his cats more than anything and spent far too much money on them, and he would defend his teammates to the death, and because his hair was wild and untamable and often reminded Bitty of a wildflower in a summer breeze.

And right now, Bitty had a feeling that when Kent was talking about not being appreciated when he worked so hard to make people happy, that maybe Kent wasn’t strictly talking about Bitty. After all, they both knew what it was like to try making Jack Zimmermann drag himself out of his self-imposed hockey tunnel vision.

“That’s really sweet, Kent.” Bitty smiled and gently brushed Kent’s flyaway bangs from his face. Abruptly, the tops of Kent’s cheeks and nose went pink, making his freckles stand out even more.

It was moments like this that Bitty could understand what Jack had seen in Kent back then. Before he’d spent so much concentrated time with him, Bitty had never understood it. Possibly, he thought, because he’d never really seen Kent. Now that he had though, Bitty knew he wasn’t capable of hating him ever again.

A knock at the door startled both of them, and Kit took off like a shot from under the coffee table toward the back bedroom.

* * *

 


	6. The More You Know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kent and Bitty independently come to a few realizations. Swoops exercises his knack for offering life advice to short blond men. Tater has a couple revelations of his own, and stumbles upon something Jack didn't know. 
> 
> All before lunchtime.

* * *

 

_A knock at the door startled both of them, and Kit took off like a shot from under the coffee table toward the back bedroom._

* * *

 

“Swoops,” Kent mumbled as an explanation.

“Oh shoot, y’all are going for a run,” Bitty said, getting up and almost jogging to the kitchen. “And I promised him a power bar too, don’t let him leave yet!”

Kent snorted. “Like he would head out the door when he could get his hands on your food? As if.”

A few minutes later, Swoops followed Kent into the kitchen, waving at Bitty. “Eric, if you ever do have any interest in going pro with this food thing,” he said without preamble, “I can ask Jenny if she knows anyone… I think her cousin is a caterer,” he explained.

Bitty almost waved him off, but the reminder of Kent’s expression earlier stopped him. Here was another person who wanted to help him… “I’m still thinking about it,” he said, deflecting slightly. “But that’s awfully nice of you, Jeff.”

“Bro, you’ve been feeding us for a week,” he said, in between mouthfuls of homemade protein bar. “I’ve been throwing money at Parse for the groceries… but I’ve been meaning to ask what your hourly is anyway… you let me know what the total is, I can get you a check whenever.” He took another bite as if nothing in this interaction was strange or odd in the slightest.

“Jeffrey, what are you talking about?”

“Your hourly rate,” he said slowly. “For cooking? Didn’t you say you worked at a restaurant?” he said, looking confused.

Kent blushed again. “I swear, Eric, I did not push this… I didn’t tell him anything.”

Bitty saw how much his shoulders had tensed, and that Kent’s eyes were wide. “Kent, everything’s fine,” he assured him, and was glad when Kent’s posture relaxed enough that he could lean against the counter. Turning back to Swoops, he said, “Yes, I do… well, sort of. I’m part time, as a baker for Whole Foods. I figured that was a good way to get professional experience, and be able to move if I needed to, you know… to keep job security and seniority.”

Swoops nodded. “Makes perfect sense. Just sayin’, Eric. I haven’t eaten this well in ages.”

Kent smirked. “I’m telling Jenny you said that.”

“Go right ahead,” Swoops said, giving Kent’s shoulders a gentle shove. “If you ask her, she’ll tell you the best thing she makes is reservations.”

Bitty laughed. “I’m honored for the compliments, really. But you don’t have to-”

“Oh my god Eric, no,” Kent said. “Please don’t finish that sentence…. You’re gonna make Swoops give you his whole ‘fuck you, pay me’ speech… and it’s gonna last like an hour, and he’s gonna be extra and pull out the damn power point on his phone and we’re going to miss our run and I’ll pull something in practice and then coach won’t let me play and we’ll lose tomorrow. Seriously,” he said, “just nod at him and agree.”

Bitty just arched an eyebrow and patted Kent’s hand. “Fuck you, pay me?”

Swoops nodded. “Hell yes,” he said, punctuating each word with a nod. “Physical and emotional labor is still labor. And there’s no such thing as an unskilled job… just undervalued skills.”

“Seriously Eric, stop him now. Not that it’s not good information,” Kent said at the look he was getting. “And it’s not that you don’t deserve it-”

“But you’ve got to run before practice,” Bitty said, rescuing him.

Kent nodded gratefully.

Bitty smiled at both of them, shooing them out of the apartment, though Kent hung back for a moment.

“Eric, I-”

“Kent honey, it’s okay… I know you didn’t put him up to anything. Or whatever you’re worried about.”

Kent’s shy smiles were much more radiant than his media one, and Bitty felt his own expression soften to match Kent’s.

“I’ll think about the money, okay? And about the whole personal chef thing. You just focus on practice. Me an’ the cats’ll be cheering from your couch.”

“Okay… see you later, Eric.”

“Have a good run, y’all!”

As Bitty closed and locked the door behind them, Purrs trotted around the corner and jumped up on his shoulder. Bitty dislodged him without thinking, tidying up the kitchen and living room before flopping on the couch. He ran his fingers through the cat’s thick fur, grinning as his chest rumbled with the kitten’s purring.

“Oh sweetheart,” he said softly, “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

It had been over a week, and Bitty still hadn’t felt an urge to go back to the east coast. He hadn’t heard from Jack, but that didn’t surprise him. Jack was giving him space. Which he’d asked for. Of course, there was still the problem of Jack believing he was in Georgia.

Which was a problem, but not one he felt like tackling right now. Bitty liked being here. He liked being with Kent. Which, damn if that wasn’t a shock. He liked being able to get up when he wanted, to do what he wanted… eat what he wanted. The biggest shock in coming out here hadn’t been the weather, or the time difference, or the days without Jack. Which, if he was honest, were less disrupting than he had thought they would be. Which… sort of said something. He just wasn’t sure yet how closely he wanted to examine that thought.

No, the biggest shock was what happened when Kent got upset. Just now, Bitty’s instincts has been ready for a full-blown anxiety attack before Jeff got here… but Kent had known how to handle himself. Had explained to Bitty what he needed. Kent was aware of his issues, and was making sure that other people around him were able to help… without being the center of attention. And it was awfully refreshing. Bitty certainly didn’t blame Jack for his anxiety… but after spending some time here, it was clear that Jack wasn’t actively handling his problems as well as he could be doing.

Kent hadn’t brought up Bitty leaving… or even finding a hotel. Which was good, Bitty mused as he kept petting Purrs, smiling and flopping an arm over the edge of the couch as Kit padded back in from the bedroom so he could pet her too. He didn’t want to leave.

Bitty’s hands stilled. He didn’t want to leave. Kit head-butted his head, and he resumed his petting. Looking at her, he said softly, “I don’t want to leave… is that okay?” She blinked slowly. Bitty huffed his bangs from his face. “I think this break was a little more break up than I originally intended, honey-cat.”

He never thought he would even think those words about him and Jack Zimmermann, let alone say them out loud. But as he lay there, letting the idea float in the air above him and settle into a decision, he knew it was real. There was an ache, deep in his chest, for what they’d had once. For the dream that he knew he was walking away from. But if the last few years had taught him anything, it was that if he stayed, his trajectory wasn’t going to change. That, four years from now, odds were he would still be a closeted, part-time grocery store baker who was waiting for his boyfriend to decide whether they could really start their lives together or not.

Bitty didn’t want that. He sighed heavily, feeling the ache in his chest still, but it was dull now, like he’d taken a bad cross check a couple weeks prior, but the bruise was already beginning to fade. He didn’t have a clue what he did want… what the new dream was… but at least now, he had somewhere to begin. Starting with several long-ass phone calls. And, once he figured out where the rest of his heart sat, he would have to talk to Kent.

* * *

 

 “Zimmboni, open up!” Tater pounded on the door to Jack’s apartment. “Is off day, and is four days since I’m eat B’s pie.”

Jack opened the door, but he wasn’t smiling. He did back up and let Tater in though. “Come on in.”

Tater grinned, shucking off his coat and hanging it in the hall before heading to the kitchen. He stopped though, turning in surprise. It didn’t smell like Bitty’s cooking. No pie, no eggs and bacon… not even coffee. It didn’t smell like anything. “Zimmboni… Where’s B?”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “He’s not here.”

“Where he go? Is off day, he usually make breakfast. Oh,” Tater said, flushing slightly. “You… you and B, you have plans? Date plans? I’m sorry,” he said, biting his lip. “I’m not mean to mess up, I can go-”

“No, Tater.” Jack’s tone was short, but he didn’t look angry. Just normal levels of Zimmboni morning grumpy. “No, we don’t have plans. He-” Jack paused, looking off to the side.

Tater knew that look, even if it had been a while since he’d seen it. Zimmboni had something to say, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say it. Or if he wanted to. Tater put a big hand on his teammate’s shoulder. “Say if you want to, Zimmboni,” he said softly. “No judgment, promise,” he added. “You can say if you want, but I’m not make you.”

Jack took a deep breath. “Bittle’s not here. Not in Providence,” he clarified, seeming to realize that Tater already knew the first part. At Tater’s silence, he continued. “He… went to Georgia for a while. To see his parents.”

“Oh,” Tater said cheerfully. “Is mama’s birthday?” he asked. “Should send card, to thank for jam and pie.” He smiled, but Jack’s frown deepened. Was there something wrong? Did Bitty go to visit for something bad? Maybe someone was hurt or sick?

When he voiced this, Jack shook his head. “No. Nothing bad. Well, nothing like that.”

“Zimmboni…” Tater didn’t understand exactly what Jack meant, but he didn’t want to say that. He hated saying those words. Ten years, and there were still far too many nuances with English that escaped him, and Tater hated admitting that. But either Jack knew that, or he took the silence as his cue, because he kept talking, and Tater was grateful.

“We- he and I- we uh. Had a fight.”

Tater’s eyes widened. In five years, he’d never seen them fight. Not even argue. Fondly bicker, maybe. Chirp each other, sure. But he’d never seen them have a proper fight. He remembered something his grandmother used to say once… that the longer a couple went without fighting, the worse it would be when it finally happened. He hoped it wasn’t bad… but years’ worth of annoyances built up had to explode sometime. And whatever it was, it had to have been bad enough that Bitty would leave the state… go see his family…

“I’m sorry, Zimmboni,” he said. He was. He was sorry to know that two of his favorite people weren’t getting along. “I’m sorry you fight, I’m sorry B leave-”

“It’s not like we broke up, Tater.” Jack’s voice was sharp, his eyes blue and cold as ice.

“No, no,” he said, hating English more than ever at this moment. He hadn’t meant that. “I just-”

“We had a fight. Every couple has fights. Even my parents,” Jack said, starting to pace. “It was just a fight, he’ll be back once he’s cooled down. This whole thing is just stupid,” Jack said.

Tater sighed, his shoulders deflating. He’d been so excited for this morning only twenty minutes ago. “I’m sorry, Zimmboni. I’m not mean like that, just…” he searched for the words. “I’m sorry B is not here, am sad that my friends are not happy.” He could feel himself getting upset too, and he knew that made the English come even less readily. “I uh… maybe this morning not so good for buddy breakfast,” he said softly, getting up from the counter to go get his coat again.

When Jack didn’t turn around or respond, Tater sighed. “Have good day, Zimmboni. You want to hang out, or talk… you can call me, okay?” he waited another minute, but Jack stayed silent.

“Bye, Zimmboni.” Tater closed the door very softly after he left, hearing the tiny click in the hallway and feeling like something inside his heart just snapped in half.

He didn’t want to start a lovely off day this way, and he hated feeling like this… especially like things wouldn’t be this bad if his English were better. He shook himself out of the melancholy thoughts and resolved to go home. He could skype Kenosha… that always made him happy. Checking his phone, the smile returned to his face. Kent had an off day too. And he’d won his game last night, so he’d be in a good mood. It was still over a month before the Falcs had to play the Aces, so there wouldn’t be anything hanging over their heads.

Yes. This was an excellent plan, and he would turn this day around.

* * *

 

Kent was hanging off his couch, upside down, feet up at the top as he watched Chopped on Hulu. “Oh come on,” he said. “Oil the product, not the damn grill! Don’t you let that dude win, he’s a fucking asshole!”

“Is that even comfortable?” Eric asked from where he sat at the desk off to the side. He was writing down his recipes after both Kent and Swoops badgering him to for a few days. Swoops had come through, and Jenny had sent Eric a few contacts. Eric seemed excited about the prospects, which was enough for Kent to be excited about it.

Neither of them had said anything about a possible return back east, and at this point, Kent had firmly put himself in the camp of “Not Going To Ask Or Bring It Up”. Which, wasn’t particularly healthy. Especially since the reason he wasn’t asking was because he had finally come to the conscious realization that he didn’t want Eric to leave. Which was fucked up on a whole lot of levels, and Kent was acutely aware of each of them, thank you very much. But, since Eric wasn’t bringing it up, he wasn’t going to either. Kent knew that his happy periods always ended… but he was going to let himself enjoy this one. You know, while it lasted anyway.

He looked over at Eric. “Sorta? I mean, it wasn’t really when I first started-”

“Then why’d you-”

“But it’s comfy now.”

Eric smirked. “You don’t know how to get out of it… you’re stuck, aren’t you, Pooh Bear?”

Boy, was Kent glad that sitting upside down was already turning his face purple. Otherwise he would be experiencing a critical blush event right now, and he absolutely did not need that in his life. Being called ‘Pooh Bear’ was a new one, even though Eric was pretty liberal with the nicknames.

His phone buzzed next to his head and he grabbed it, grateful for the distraction. His heart thumped as he read the message, and eagerly typed back a reply, then looked at Eric again. “So, there’s like, no chance of you coming over here and holding up my computer upside down by my face, right?”

Eric laughed. “Nope. No chance at all.”

“Damn it.”

Eric stopped typing and turned around. “Why?”

“Alyosha- Tater texted… he wants to skype.” Oh… Kent felt something clench in his stomach. Tater was friends with Jack… and with Eric… would this be weird? What if he wanted to talk to him about that? Worse, what if he was mad at him? Kent didn’t know if he could take that… but the text had sounded friendly, excited. Just as texts from Alyosha always did. And he used a whole strong of his weird, cute smileys… and actual emojis too.

“Are you trying to ask for my help to sit up without actually asking for help?” Eric’s eyes were sparkling with the chirp, and Kent couldn’t help the swoop in his stomach this time, though this swoop felt different.

“Maybe.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?” he giggled, but Eric got up anyway, and knelt down, taking Kent under his arm and hefting him up in one smooth, fluid motion, and _damn,_ if that wasn’t one of the hottest things Kent had ever-

No. Absolutely not, he was not going to start thinking those things. Eric was off fucking limits. Even if he eventually did decide to call it quits with Zimmermann, Eric had come out here specifically to get away from a hockey relationship. And for all he knew, Eric was moments away from remembering how in love with Zimmermann he really was, and packing his tiny suitcase again, and waltzing out of Kent’s life- other than the occasional summer barbeques and winter newsletters… Kent knew what it did to him the last time he fell in love with someone he knew he couldn’t have. He was not going to go down that road again.

He felt his phone buzz again. Alyosha. Alyosha wanted to skype him. There was that god damn swoop again. Oh.

 _Oh_. Oh, fuck. He was so fucking fucked.

* * *

 

Tater grinned, bopping his head to the Skype call-connecting song as he waited for the call to connect. So this morning hadn't been so great. That was okay... he could fix it. Talking to Kenosha always made him happy. Even if they weren't in the same city, even if they were so far apart, it would be okay. 

When he thought about how he felt a few year ago, he could kick himself. All that time wasted hating him, when he could have been hugging him and smiling at how perfectly Kenosha fit into his arms. Tater loved Jack, and Jack was his best friend here... the best he'd had in a very long time... but Tater knew that he'd been guilty of accepting Jack’s word for who Kent was, without bothering to make up his own mind. And of course, once he'd actually put in the work, Tater had discovered that Kent was completely different than he'd thought. 

Kent... well, Kent almost defied explanation. And the personality he gave the media had absolutely nothing to do with his real self. The first time Kent had come to his house, and had kneeled down to make friends with his dog, his smile had been so unbelievably soft... Tater had really known at that moment that he was done for. And ever since then, every time he'd seen that soft smile, he felt his whole heart just sing with how good it felt... and the felt he overwhelming urge to keep making Kenosha smile like that. 

As the call connected, there he was, that shy, soft smile on his face right this second. 

"Hi Alyosha." Kent's voice was soft too. 

"Kenosha! So good to see you!" Tater grinned. "Why your face so red?" Was Kent blushing? 

"Oh," and his face went redder, "I was sitting upside down on my couch," he said. 

"Why?" Tater asked. "Lose bet with Jeff?"

Kent snorted. "No... I was just trying to get comfy, and then I sort of... ended up that way." Kent grinned, despite himself, and stuck his tongue out. "What're you doing today, big guy?" Kent checked his phone. "Y'all have an off-day, right?"

Tater nodded. It was true, after all. He had planned to have breakfast with Zimmboni and B, but that obviously wasn't going to happen. "Not much," he shrugged. "Am doing best part of plan right now. Talk to Kenosha." Tater was rewarded with Kent's soft smile. "How are cats?"

The smile grew. "They're good. Spoiled as hell, obvs. I'm surprised Purrs didn't run in here when he heard your voice." 

"He is get very big now, last Insta pic is very cute." Tater loved it when he got Kent to talk about his cats. It was always a way to make him happy, and chase away whatever bad memory was pushing at Kent's brain. 

Normally, bringing up Instagram would get Kent to send Tater a few links of cats pictures, even if they weren't his cats, but right now, he was looking off-screen. Tater heard a familiar voice, very tinny through his speakers, and he couldn't place it. "Kent, are you okay if I take pictures of this stuff? Since it's your counters in the background, and all..."

Kent turned and waved off whoever it was. "Sure thing, Eric. Do whatever you need. Razzle-dazzle that shit up for your portfolio, man."

Tater _knew_ he knew that voice from somewhere, but without a face, without being able to read the speaker's lips, he couldn't tell where it came from. He was so used to listening with his whole body that English, divorced from an actual person saying it, wasn't making sense. "You're have company, Kenosha?" he asked. He didn't want to impose, or get in the way if Kent had plans... no matter how much he loved talking to him, he never wanted to be in the way. 

Kent looked... almost embarrassed? "No- well, yeah, I do have someone here... but it's... he's not-"

The voice came through his speakers again. "Is that Tater? Oh hi, honey!" 

As the voice got closer, and the voice's owner walked into frame, Tater felt rooted to his seat with such shock that he couldn't speak. It was Bitty. Bitty- who was supposed to be with Zimmboni, except for not - he was supposed to be with his parents - in Georgia... and he wasn't any of those places. He was in Las Vegas. He was with Kent. 

Bitty was with Kent, and not where he said he would be. 

He couldn't help himself, and the words came out before he could snatch them back. "B, why you lie to Zimmboni?"

* * *

 


	7. Three Confessions and a Break-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater pushes Bitty for some answers, and he gets them. Which of course, leads him and Kent to have a conversation they've both been tiptoeing around for a couple years. 
> 
> After talking with Tater, Bitty knows that he's got to talk to Jack some time... might as well be now. It's been two weeks, and even though he pathologically avoids confrontation, he knows he can't avoid this conversation forever. He owes it to himself.

* * *

 

_"B, why you lie to Zimmboni?"_

* * *

 

Bitty stopped dead in his tracks, a dripping spatula in his hand. Tater watched Bitty’s eyes widen at the expression that must have been on his face and Bitty blushed deeply. "Tater... honey- I... I didn't lie to him," he started, but it only made Tater's stomach hurt. 

"You write him letter, you say you go to Georgia. To see your parents... Kenosha is not your parents... what happen?" He didn't understand. Never in a million years did he think that this could happen. 

"It wasn't a conscious choice, sweetie." 

Tater didn't understand, and more than ever, he hated the barriers here. Both English, and the physical distance. 

"Explain. Please," he added, knowing how harsh his accent could sound. 

Bitty took a deep breath. "Jack 'n me, we- we had a real big fight. It- it was bad, honey. I really did mean to go see my parents... and then, when I got to the airport, I just... I couldn't do it. Alexei," Bitty looked so upset, "I couldn't go down there and see her face... and hear them all say 'I told you so', or have them question my entire life. Alexei, sweetie, I just couldn't do that." 

Tater took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He could understand that. Even though Jack was his best friend and he didn’t want Jack to be hurting, Tater could understand not wanting to look his parents in the face when a relationship wasn't going the way he thought. Especially since, if he remembered right, Bitty’s parents weren't completely on board with his sexuality. Just another reason Bitty might not want to admit that things weren't as 'sunshine and roses' as he'd been saying they were. But he needed to know something else. 

"So, why Kenosha?"

Bitty looked away from Tater for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. And he was looking at Kent with such a soft expression on his face.... and Tater absolutely understood that, almost better than he understood everything else about this day. He understood that Kent got under your skin and made you just want to care for him... but he didn't understand that emotion coming from Bitty... three weeks ago, Bitty had gone sour when Snowy had just brought up the Aces... though, when Jack and Kent had met at the arena - before he went for pedicures with Kenosha - Bitty hadn't been as antagonistic then. He'd offered Kent his phone number. 

"B... you say why no Georgia, and I'm think I understand. If-" this was hard to say, but he wanted to make sure Bitty knew he wasn't mad at him. "If... I'm in relationship, and something go wrong... I know I'm not want to tell my parents either. My- my parents... okay now with me, but they not understand at first. Is not something we talk about in Russia... but, I'm not think you like Kenosha very much?"

Bitty went pink. "Oh boy honey, that is so true. Two weeks ago, I really didn't like him. But," and Tater's eyes widened when he put a hand on Kent's shoulder, "I also didn't really know him. I thought I did... but I was wrong. And... since things went a bit pear-shaped with Jack, I figured Kent would understand that." 

Kent came to his rescue on the idiom. "Pear-shaped... it's like, when everything goes completely weird, and the opposite of how you wanted. When everything kinda goes wrong, or knowing that things didn't turn out like you planned."

Oh. He still had no idea what any of that had to do with pears, but at least he understood what Bitty meant. "Thanks, Kenosha."

Bitty looked a bit sheepish. "Sorry honey, but yeah. Kent's right... that's exactly what I meant. I um... figured he would understand."

Kent nodded. "I did. Do..." 

" _Loooord_ ," Bitty said, his accent getting thick as he drew the word out and covered his face with his spatula. "I haven't told Jack that I'm out here."

Tater knew that he needed to say something now. "B, I'm not tell him. Whatever is happen, how you feel.... is between you two. I'm not get in between."

"Thanks honey, I appreciate that."

Tater knew that wouldn't be a fun conversation, however it went. Jack was not fond of talking about Kent in the best of situations... and this would absolutely not help things. If Jack was this upset and harsh when he thought that Bitty was just with his parents... how would he be when he found out that Bitty was with Kent? And by all available evidence, was staying with him? Bitty was definitely cooking in Kent's kitchen, and if Bitty was cooking, he was comfortable. 

Tater swallowed heavily. What if- what if whatever was going on here was a romantic thing? What if Kenosha and Bitty were a thing? Or at least, in the early stages. He'd known for a long time that he was falling for Kent... but he'd never actually made a move. He had always been so damn scared. With how Russia felt about people like him, with how the league felt about people like him... and he wasn't sure how Kent felt. There were so many rumors about Kent, and he knew that Kent had a reputation for a zero-tolerance policy of homophobia in his locker room. But being okay with it in theory was sometimes different than being okay with it in practice... and now it was possible that his fear was going to keep him from ever truly getting a chance with Kent. 

To distract himself from the way his chest was clenching now, he pointed at the spatula. "B... you cooking something?"

"Oh, yeah!" Bitty went on, talking a mile a minute about how some of the Aces were giving him tips and introductions with their friends in the west coast food industry. Tater smiled and listened, trying not to think about how everything Bitty was saying sounded more and more like he was thinking about staying out there, and not coming back to Providence. All he wanted for his friend was for Bitty to be happy... that would be more important than how often Tater got to see him, right? 

Tater wanted to say something encouraging, something to remind Bitty how much he loved him and supported him... but as usual, English was deserting him when he needed it most. Kent's eyes seemed to pierce into his soul, even through the computer screen. Of course Kenosha noticed. Kent was always so good at understanding, even on the couple of truly bad days that they'd had when, no matter how hard he tried, Tater couldn't make the English come through, when getting out of bed was barely possible, when he hated himself for talking like a child and being misunderstood, for drawing strange looks in the higher-end parts of Providence and dealing with people who very clearly did not want him around, who judged him for his accent and broken words. 

Kenosha always understood him. 

"Eric... um, didn't you say you wanted to get those pics to Jenny by tonight?" Kent said, looking up and over his shoulder. 

"Lord, you're right. I just got distracted by this big ol’ sweetie," he said, smiling at Tater before waving goodbye and heading back to the kitchen. 

This was okay. Tater could do this. Once it's just the two of them though, Tater felt shy again. He hadn't felt like this around Kent for a long time. Now that he was thinking about actually coming right out, and telling him how he felt, the nerves were back in full force. 

"Kenosha, I-"

"Hey, what you said earlier-"

They both cut themselves off mid-sentence, softly laughing. "Go ahead, Kenosha."

"What you said earlier," he repeated, "about... um, about understanding what it would be like, you know. To talk to your parents about... your relationships? And knowing how it felt... feels," Kent said, looking down, "to not want to have to explain everything. Um... Lyosha...." and oh god, Tater loved it when Kent called him that, no one else in the whole world called him that, "Lyosha, you don't have to answer this, but... were you- are you trying to say that you're not straight?"

* * *

 

Kent could feel his cheeks flaming. He couldn't believe that he'd actually asked that. Especially when he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't ever do that. He wouldn't ever ask him outright, because everyone should be able to come out on their own terms. But sitting there, seeing the look on his face as he was talking about his family, Kent thought he saw the same fear and hesitation that had been on Eric's face when he'd first gotten here. 

He thought maybe he could see Tater blushing through his screen, and he was so distracted by his racing thoughts he almost missed it when Tater nodded. 

"Yes Kenosha... yes, is what I'm say."

"You-" Kent sat up straight. "I'm really happy you trust me with that," he said, remembering what Max had said to him when he'd first come out to her and how great that had made him feel, "like, I'm- it means a lot. And I'm so happy for you, y'know... it's amazing, and- shit, I forgot to say that I totally support you, Lyosha. I do. So much, I-"

Tater chuckled. "Slow down, Kenosha, I know. Is okay."

"O-okay. Sorry," he said. "I just- I wanted to make sure you knew."

"I know, I promise."

Kent smiled. There was that soft smile on Tater's face that he loved best, his shoulders relaxed, his face open and happy. 

"Um. Good. If... if we're saying stuff... I mean, I've wanted to tell you for a while? And you may already know... but if you don't, um. I'm not straight either."

Tater chuckled, but blew a kiss at the screen. "I'm think so, but not want to push. I support you too, Kenosha, okay? No matter what." He laughed again, then said, "Kenosha, you have _any_ straight friends?"

Kent snorted, almost falling off the couch. "Lyosha," he giggled, "I can't believe you said that."

Tater shrugged, grinning back. "Is true. Me, B is staying with you... careful, if you have any, you maybe bring them to our side, yeah?"

"I kinda love you, you know that?" The words slipped out softly, a quiet declaration from the depths of his heart. He didn't realize that he'd even said anything until Tater stopped laughing. 

"Kenosha... you- you meant that?"

Kent stopped dead. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_ , fucking shit- Lyosha had just come out to him like, all of five fucking minutes ago, how could he have screwed this up that fast? Fuck, this was a new record for him- god, he was so fucking stupid-

"Kenosha... Kent, breathe, please, slow breathe, okay? You scare me." 

Tater's voice broke through the record player in his head, stuck on _stupid-stupid-stupid_ and Kent took a deep shuddering breath. And another. Two more, before he could stop his hands from shaking. He clenched them into fists to get them to hold still. "Sorry," he said, before he could royally fuck himself over anymore. "I- we- pretend I didn't-"

"Kenosha, please," and Tater sounded like he was going through his own mini-crisis. "Please, do not say we pretend that not happen. Please, do not take back."

Kent couldn't let himself think this. "What- I..." _Breathe, you idiot._ He took another breath, less shaky this time. "Alexei," he said, because that name was a little bit safer right now. "Alexei, I need to you explain what you mean." He remembered how Tater was with English when he got upset, and he amended his request. "Take as much time.... take the time you need, it's- it's okay... Lyosha," damn it, he hadn't meant to say that. But he needed to. This was his Lyosha, whether he wanted to admit that or not. And now he had... and he didn't want to let it go. "Lyosha, I just need to know what you meant."

Tater was wringing his big hands. "I- when I hear you say that, it make me so happy," he said, his eyes welling with tears. "So happy, Kenosha. I love spend time with you... to see you happy, make you laugh. Cuddle you... I-" Tater bit his lip, and Kent could tell this was hard for him, to get the words out, but for Kent, he was doing it. Because Kent had asked him to. "Kenosha," he said, "I... I kind of love you too." His brown eyes were bigger than Kent had ever seen, and he looked scared. 

Giant goons with knives strapped to their feet came at him every day, and Alexei Mashkov didn't fucking blink. Facing down the coach of the Russian national team at the Sochi Olympics when he'd said he had no problem playing with a gay guy on his team, Alexei Mashkov held his shoulders wide and was an unstoppable brick wall. 

But now... looking Kent Parson in the eye and telling him that he was falling in love with him? This was what made Alexei shrink in on himself, and shake with nerves? 

"Oh Lyosha..." Kent whispered, the tips of his fingers brushing the screen. He didn't realize he'd lifted his hand, but Tater smiled and raised his own hand and matched his fingers to Kent's. Then he was talking again.

"I.... I'm falling... for long time now. I'm not say, not sure if you're feel same about me. Or if you like boys. I'm always hope... especially when you call me Lyosha and cuddle with me. I think maybe... I let myself hope maybe is true. But I'm never say, just in case. Is better to have a little Kenosha in my life than none at all."

Kent knew there was a tear or two tracking down his face, but he didn't fucking care. This was the nicest anyone had ever been to him, and it was without judgment, without expectation. "Thanks, Lyosha," he said. "I... jeez, I'm not going to say it as nice as you," he said, and Tater blushed a bit, "but I've been falling for you for a long-ass time too. I just- I didn't want to admit it, even to myself. Because what if I was wrong? I didn't want to let myself hope, in case I couldn't have you."

"You have me, Kenosha. You have me for a long time already."

"Good." Thanks to the laptop camera, he could see that he was blushing like a certifiable seventh grader, but he didn't care. "Um, d'you want to come out here for Hanukkah? I know the break is technically for Christmas or whatever, but- I mean, and you totally don’t have to say yes? But if you want-”

“Yes Kenosha, I want,” Tater said, chuckling softly, his deep voice soothing, even through the speakers. “I want very much. Doesn’t matter that Hanukkah is over before break, we still can light menorah together.”

Kent felt a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the Las Vegas sunshine streaming through his window. “Will you bring yours?”

“Only if we can light both together.”

“Deal, Lyosha.”

“Yes… is deal, solnyshko.”

* * *

 

Bitty paced back and forth, picking up his phone for the twelfth time in as many minutes. He put it down again, then picked it up, actually unlocking it this time. "Ugh, come on, it’s been two weeks. Just call him." He huffed his bangs from his face. "Great. Now I'm talking to myself." He shook his head, flopping down on his bed. "Why is this so hard?" 

He knew exactly why it was so hard. He was calling Jack, for the first time since he’s walked out. And the first time Jack was hearing from him, after the biggest fight they had ever had, the longest they had ever gone without talking to each other since they’d met... would be to hear that Bitty was breaking up with him. 

"Lord, I can't tell him that," Bitty murmured, rubbing at his eyes, then swearing when his phone hit him in the face. 

He had to though. He couldn't ghost Jack. Jack deserved better than that. Jack deserved to know what Bitty was thinking. Not that Bitty owed him an explanation, per se... he could hear the lecture from Shitty and Lardo if he ever said that out loud. But Bitty felt like Jack deserved to know why, after five years and counting, Bitty was throwing in the towel. 

He could do this. He needed to. He would do it. Bitty unlocked his phone again. He reached over across Kent's guest bed and grabbed Señor Bun, thumb gently rubbing his soft belly. He needed reinforcements for this, but he could do it. He had to do it soon... He pulled up his calendar app one more time, and quadruple-checked that today was an off day for Jack. He wanted to actually talk to him. Bitty knew he couldn't do this over a voicemail. Partly because that would be an epically douchey move... and partly because Bitty himself had brought up that leaving important information in voicemails was a sign that something wasn't right with them. 

He looked at the calendar. It was an off day. Just like he knew it was. 

He was stalling. And he knew it. 

Bitty sighed again, his arm across his forehead. 

Could he call tomorrow maybe? They were off tomorrow too. 

No. No, there was a reason he had chosen today. The Falcs had two off days in a row, and in case Jack needed the other day to pull himself together - Bitty did not want to think about that, but he knew that it was a possibility - he'd decided to call today. And he had to do it soon, because Swoops and Jenny were coming over, and they were all going out for dinner to celebrate. One of Jenny's contacts had come through, and Bitty had a meeting - an interview of sorts - set up to create a portfolio for him, and hopefully get himself started with his path to becoming a personal chef. He couldn't be late for that. 

He checked his watch. Should he wait to make this call until he wasn't distracted? No, Bittle. He almost slapped himself to keep from chickening out. He needed to do this, and he had five hours between now and dinner. There was more than enough time. This wasn't just for Jack, he told himself. This is for me too. 

Kent's voice was in his head, reminding Bitty of something his therapist had said.  _If you’re having trouble making yourself admit something, or do something, say it out loud_.

“I’m not just doing this for Jack,” Bitty said softly. I’m doing this for me too.” He was acutely aware of his chest rising and falling. “I’m doing this for me too.”

He nodded, unlocked his phone, and hit call.

When Jack picked up, Bitty nearly dropped his phone in surprise. It had been two weeks, of course Jack would pick up.

“Hi Bits.”

“Hi honey,” he said, though even he could hear that it wasn’t as energized as usual. Bitty was surprised to notice that Jack’s voice sounded deeper than he thought it would. Two weeks, and he wasn’t used to hearing that voice every day anymore. Bitty also noticed that, for the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn’t excited to hear Jack’s voice on the other end of the phone. It was that, more than anything else, that convinced him he was doing the right thing here… no matter how strange it felt or how hard it was to get the words part the sudden lump in his throat.

“How’re your folks?”

Of course Jack would ask that. Bitty forced himself to smile. “They’re fine. Same as always. Mama says hi,” he added, out of habit. It was true though. Every time he talked to them, Suzanne always told him to make sure Jack knew she was thinking of him.

“Send my best,” Jack said. Then, “How are you?”

“Could we start with a less complicated question?” Bitty said, almost regretting that this wasn’t on skype. Then he remembered why he had self-vetoed that plan. He didn’t want to have to see Jack’s face for this… Besides, it might make him reconsider, and he knew in his heart of hearts that this was what needed to happen.

“Sorry,” Jack said, and he sounded like he meant it. “And I’m sorry for a lot of what I said.”

“Me too, honey.” Bitty couldn’t help but notice Jack’s wording. As in, there were some things that he wasn’t sorry he said. Well, that was fine, he thought. There were some things he’d said that he wasn’t sorry for either. “We need to talk about some things though.”

Bitty was thrown off-guard when Jack laughed. “Good thing you added those words on, bud… that was almost the break-up sentence.”

“Huh?”

“The whole ‘we need to talk’, thing… every one of those romantic comedy things, someone always says that.”

Oh honey… Bitty swallowed hard. “Jack sweetheart…”

“Bittle-”

“Jack, that’s exactly what we need to talk about.”

“No, that’s… that’s not what I meant,” Jack said, “I… you-”

Bitty nodded, even though Jack couldn’t see him, and he stood up, pacing again, though he kept his other hand clenched firmly around Señor Bun.

“Jack, I know I said I needed some space, and that I needed to think about some stuff. Honey, I- I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. A whole lot. And Jack…” God, how did people do this? He felt like there was a boulder in his stomach and another one halfway down his throat. “Jack, I don’t think we’re as… good for each other as we- as we used to be. I- um…” and Bitty could feel the tears threatening to spill. “I think we… I don’t think we oughta date anymore.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it! I finished NaNo and hit 50k.... *dances* Woohoo!!!!
> 
> Now that NaNo is over, I can properly work on editing the backlog, yay. The next few weeks are going to busy for me, what with the holiday season, but I do have enough of a buffer written that I should still be able to update at least once a week, maybe more. 
> 
> Thank you all for helping to motivate me through this crazy month and ridiculous writing goal... this fic will likely be around 80k, so there is plenty more to come!


	8. Bedrooms, Closets, and Cars, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty has the toughest conversation he's ever had - including the last time he spoke to Jack. Kent understands. Of course he does. He also knows that Bitty is trying to give Jack more than Jack ever gave to him, so he can support that. 
> 
> While he gives Eric some time to process his emotions, he has a pretty important conversation with Swoops, one that is long overdue.

* * *

 

_“I think we… I don’t think we oughta date anymore.”_

* * *

 

The other end of the phone was silent except for Jack’s breathing. A thought flitted through Bitty’s mind that maybe Jack had never been on the receiving end of this conversation before. Of course he hadn’t, Bitty thought. Who would be dumb enough to break up with Jack Zimmermann?

“Bits,” Jack’s voice sounded distant. Maybe Jack had put him on speaker? “Bits, don’t. Don’t do this,” he said.

“Jack… no. This isn’t- I don’t…” Bitty really didn’t know how to continue, what to say next.

“I’ll call George, tell her to go ahead with the press release,” Jack said, talking fast again.

It took Bitty a minute or two to catch up to his racing train of thought, but when he did, he cut Jack off, mid-plan. “Jack, no. Absolutely not.”

“I- wait, what? Bits, you said- you want me to-”

Bitty was torn between laughing and sobbing. The was the second time in their relationship that he’d told Jack he couldn’t handle the secrets, and Jack was trying to bend over backwards and rush to give him something – anything – any concession so that he might stay. No. he couldn’t do that again. It wasn’t healthy.

“It’s not healthy,” he said aloud, surprising himself with how well this technique of Kent’s had wormed its way into his coping mechanisms. “Jack honey, it’s not healthy. For me, for you… for either of us.”

“But, this is what you want.”

“No, it’s not,” Bitty said, and for a moment, Bitty could sense every single part of himself in his clarity. “I don’t want you to come out because you’re scared of losing me, or because I don’t want to date you otherwise, or anything like that.” The more the words came out, the firmer was his conviction. “Jack, I don’t want you to come out because you were threatened into it, or backed into a corner. That’s not right, that’s not fair. And it’s not fair to put that on me. Jack,” Bitty shrugged, putting Señor Bun on Kent’s windowsill, “Jack, I want you to come out on your terms, when you’re ready. And it’s not now. I know that, and so do you.”

The silence on the other end of the line meant that Jack agreed, but he didn’t know what he was expected to say. So Bitty kept talking.

“Jack, you have the right to control the story about you, whatever that story is. Just like I need to tell my own story. And… and I think this is where my story and yours… hun, I don’t think they’re the same story anymore.”

“This… this is what you want?” Jack’s voice was flat. “Bitty… Bitty, I love you.”

“I know, sweetpea,” Bitty said. The lump was still in his throat, but it didn’t feel quite so big or heavy anymore. “I know. And I love you too. I think,” he let out a soft laugh, “All right, I know… I know a part of me’ll always love you. You were my first love, Jack. A part of my heart’ll always belong to you.” He took a deep breath. “But… if the last few days of thinking have helped me figure out anything, it’s that I still have so much to figure out. And… I need to- I need to figure it out… I need to figure me out,” he said. “I need to figure out who I am without you.”

It was the hardest sentence he’d ever put together in his life, and saying it felt like shards of glass were being ripped from his throat. Not for the pain in his own chest, he could take that. But for what he knew it was doing to Jack. Bitty knew this quiet. This was the quiet, the calm before the storm. This was why he had chosen today to call, so that Jack could process this, and ride out the hurricane, and still play hockey in two days. Because the last time he saw Jack, in their kitchen, Jack had made it clear that hockey was his choice. Hockey was forever his choice, and Bitty was letting him choose it.

“You’re sure?”

Only two words, but they were going to be burned into his heart forever. Bitty knew that. But he also knew his answer. “I’m sure.” A pause, then, “I… We can work out details later, if you want… about splitting up the stuff.” Jack was quiet. “Maybe during bye week.”

“Sure,” Jack said. “Whatever you want.”

Bitty nodded, but Jack didn’t see it. He didn’t see the tears on his cheeks either. “I- I’m sorry Jack,” he said softly, the crack in his voice almost making him dizzy.

“Yeah… I- euh… I’m- sorry too. Um. I guess… we’ll talk later then, about- about everything.”

“Sure,” Bitty said, the air leaving his chest in a rush. “Sure, Jack.” He looked at the clock. It was only half past five here, but it was getting on for nine there. “Sleep well, honey.”

“Thanks, Bits- Bittle.” Jack took a breath, almost sounding like he wanted to say something else. But no more words came through, and Bitty heard the dull A of the dial tone.

“Bye Jack,” Bitty said, his own voice reverberating back through the unconnected line and feeling hollow in his ears.

Something about this was very wrong… at least, it felt like it. But it also didn’t. His shoulders felt weird, and Bitty almost laughed when he realized why. All the stress and worry he’d been carrying there over the last two weeks wasn’t there. He’d been dreading this conversation, but he’d had it. He did it. He had figured out one piece of the puzzle…

But he still didn’t have a clue about anything else. Over the last few years, every plan he had ever made for himself had Jack in it.

No. every plan had revolved around Jack. Living in Providence. Setting up a bakery in Providence. Living with Jack. Marrying Jack. He had chosen the path that didn’t have Jack on it. Bitty nodded. That was fine. It was what he wanted. Well, that wasn’t quite right? He’d meant it when he said that he would always love Jack, and he was sure he would. But what he wanted, what he needed if he was going to stay with him… Jack either wouldn’t or couldn’t give him that… it didn’t really matter whether it was wouldn’t or couldn’t, not in the end. The result would have been the same. He would have ended up resenting Jack and being miserable, and losing sight of the things that made him fall in love with Jack in the first place.

He needed different things, Bitty knew that. He just didn’t know what exactly those different things were.

Shit.

Bitty poked his head out from the bedroom, a soft smile coming to his face when he saw Kent smiling at Alexei’s face on his computer. These two… both of them were so wonderful. “Kent honey,” Bitty called, without thinking. He almost took it back, but Kent – bless him – turned around like Bitty had called him that a hundred times.

“Yeah, Eric?”

“Can I use your kitchen?”

Kent carefully put the laptop on the coffee table and got up, though Bitty was already headed over to meet him halfway. “Eric… you’ve been using the kitchen all the time,” he said carefully. “It’s always okay, man. Whatever you need.”

Bitty winced. “Um. This might be a lot.”

* * *

 

Kent was hit with flashbacks from Alyosha’s stories… car loads full of jam. Twenty quiches in a single weekend. He remembered the pictures from Alyosha’s instragram… every flat surface covered with pie, and a few more surfaces that were not flat at all. The edible explosions were how Eric coped with things. A part of him wanted to ask what brought this on. Kent knew he’d been talking on the phone, and that more than likely, it was with Jack. In the two weeks he’d been here, Eric had never taken a call in the bedroom. Not even when he called his mother after church on Sundays. Dealing with Jack and this whole situation would definitely be enough to cause the need for exercising coping methods. Kent knew that he wouldn’t want to be asked to talk about it, especially when he hadn’t even had a chance to process yet.

He squeezed Eric’s shoulder lightly. “Sure, man. Whatever you gotta do, it’s all good.”

Eric was still biting his lip and staring at the granite countertop.

Kent sighed fondly, and pointed over at a green fridge magnet. “Eric, see this?” When Eric nodded, Kent tapped the post it. “It’s my instacart login stuff. If you need anything, order it. One hour delivery, bro.”

“But Kent, that’s like, an extra-”

Kent put up his hands. “Extra charge, whatever. It doesn’t matter. Dude, I’ve got bank, and besides, you won’t let me pay you any other way.” He shrugged, but considered it a win when Eric gave him a sheepish grin. “Order whatever you want, the good shit. Fancy ass butter, fifteen different kinds of flour-”

“Kenneth, even I don’t need that many-”

“You should talk to Thor, he’s”

“Mr. Parson, you are not friends with Chris Hemsworth,” Eric said, “or if you are, and have been sitting on this information, you are about to be in big trouble.”

Kent smiled fondly. “No, but bro, I wish. No, I meant Mags. Magnus Thorvaldsson,” he explained. “One of my guys. He’s from Norway, and his mom has some awesome bread recipes… they use like, a shit ton of different flours, all in the same loaves. I’ll get him to send them over for you,” Kent said.

“Thanks, honey.” Eric’s voice was so soft, so kind. Like he couldn’t believe Kent would be so thoughtful, and like he really appreciated it.

Fuck. Kent knew Eric did appreciate it, but he also knew that he had no right, no right in any way whatsoever, for Eric to be using that tone of voice with him. That tone? That was for Jack.

Kent cleared his throat. “Yeah, um. Anyway… you said it might be a lot, but like, that’s cool? I happen to know a lot of guys that eat like, five thousand calories every day.”

Bitty laughed, and it was nearly a giggle. It was a nice sound. Kent couldn’t help smiling back. “Do what you gotta do, Eric. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Thanks, Kent.”

Kent was in mid-vault over the couch, back to his skype call, when a thought occurred to him. “Eric… do- do you want me to like, leave? For a while?”

Kent looked at Alyosha on his screen, feeling a bit guilty, but Tater just smiled knowingly, nodded, and blew him a kiss. Fuck, this fluttering in his stomach was new. And he knew he was grinning like a god damn idiot, but he didn’t care. He made a heart with his fingers, and was pleased to note that Tater blushed and grinned.

“Eric,” he said, looking up, “whatever your call was – and I’m not prying or trying to get you to talk about it, I promise… it’s okay. Just, if it was hard or whatever, and you need time or… or like, to be alone for a bit to process? I get how that goes. Um, if you want, I can like, go chill in my room for a bit. Or like, if you want the space, that’s cool? I can go for a run, or I can grab Swoops and we can hit the movies or something.”

“Kent sweetie, you don’t have to do that,” Bitty was going slightly pink. “It- it’s your house, I-”

“I know,” he said. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta squish anything down, you know? Like, it’s gross when you can’t process junk. It builds up like, inside you. And you start to feel really gross.” He wasn’t sure he was making sense, but Eric was nodding, so that had to have clicked somehow. “I can do whatever you want.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tater wave at him. Kent looked down and saw the message Tater had typed.

 

****Alyosha:** B not ask, but he probs want to be alone. Is what he do in PVD when he is upset. **

****Alyosha:** Is okay, Kenosha. We talk some more tomorrow, promise.**

 

Kent felt his heart swell with affection and gratitude. He really didn’t deserve Alyosha, but somehow, he’d landed him. “You sure?” he mouthed at the screen. Tater nodded, then typed something else.

 

****Alyosha:** Yes, sure. Love you Kenosha. <3**

 

Kent knew he couldn’t get words out right now, even if he tried. He typed a heart back, and reached for his phone, ending the skype call. “Swoops has been after me to go see Star Wars anyway, I should finally humor him.”

Eric clearly recognized the excuse for what it was, but he didn’t comment. He did however, drop the half a dozen utensils and cookie sheet in his hands to clatter down on the countertops before taking four deliberate steps to reach Kent and hugging him tight around the middle.

Kent was absolutely dumbfounded. He had no fucking clue how anything he had ever done in nearly thirty years had ever earned him this moment, to he hugged tight and held with such trust, such gratitude. Bitty was quiet, but Kent knew this particular brand of desperation. He didn’t have to wait for Eric to give it a name. This feeling had been sleeping with Kent for a decade now. Haunting the corners of his bathroom and waiting in the fuzz of static electricity every time he turned off the television. Every time he didn’t have enough distraction around him, this feeling would rear its ugly head.

True, it had been happening less and less, and there were some days where Kent was starting to think he could finally manage to banish it for good someday. Like earlier, when Alyosha told him he was falling in love.

Only to see it reflected here. In Eric.

Kent’s heart ripped in two, and before he could start listing all the reasons why this was a horrible idea, he wrapped his arms around Eric Bittle and held him right back. He felt Eric shudder for a moment, and Kent had a fleeting instant where he wondered if he’d fucked this up too, but then Eric somehow managed to tighten his grip around Kent, and he relaxed. This was right.

Kent knew how to fight this monster after all.

Neither one of them spoke. Kent held on, his thumbs softly stroking Eric’s back, his breath softly whuffing through Eric’s golden hair. Eric held on, burying his face in Kent’s chest. Kent didn’t want to let go. Maybe if someone had held him like this, back when he first came to Vegas, maybe he wouldn’t have been so shattered. Maybe if there had been someone to pick up the pieces, maybe he wouldn’t have been so broken to begin with. Not Eric. Kent wouldn’t let him shatter. And he would stand here, and hold him, as long as it took.

Eric pulled away first, but that was okay. Kent knew he would. Kent looked down with a soft smile, not wanting to say anything and break the spell. Eric wasn’t sniffling or anything, and he didn’t wipe at his eyes, but Kent saw how bright they were.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said softly. “If you need anything, you call, okay?” he said, the _if you need me_ , going unspoken. Kent couldn’t say that. He wanted to. But it wasn’t his to say. Whatever his feelings for Eric were, Eric was off limits. And Kent had Alyosha, who was certainly not a consolation prize. Alyosha was everything. Everything he had ever wanted, and everything he needed. This thing with Eric, it was a proximity thing. A sympathy thing… a knowing how it felt to have your world revolve around Jack Zimmermann and then have everything crash and burn, thing. It couldn’t be a real thing. He was already pushing beyond what he was allowed to have with Alyosha. Alyosha was too sweet, too kind.

Kent sighed, knowing that he would have to book an extra session with Max this week, and put at least a hundy in the Blame Jar for this train of thought. Whatever. On some level he knew that she was right… she usually was. He just had a really hard time with all this niceness and appreciation. It was… a lot. All at once. And of course, he was finding a way to get physically away from it right this minute. Unlike the past though… Alyosha loved him. Alyosha said it, and Alyosha never lied to him. The truth was right there, staring out of his big brown eyes.

Kent stuffed his keys in his pocket, waving at Eric as he pulled out kitchen utensils that Kent didn’t even know he had. Huh. Eric had big brown eyes too. As Kent met his gaze, and Eric smiled, Kent felt that little swoop in his stomach. Damn butterflies. He was so fucked. He would go hang with Swoops, go see Star Wars. Eat junk food that was not on his diet plan that he was not going to mention to Sasha. And he would probably text Alyosha through the trailers, and send him dumb ass romantic heart emojis and shit. He would come back after the movie, and Eric would be here. And his apartment would smell like home. It would be okay.

 

* * *

Bitty didn’t want to take advantage of Kent’s offer… but lord, it had been nice of him. And the whole time he’d been here, Kent had been very explicit that Bitty could do what he wanted, use what he wanted. Not just in the kitchen, in the whole apartment. The whole building. Kent had given him his account information for the building’s Starbucks… and his extra key fob for the gym. Bitty had needed to borrow clothes for the gym (and for a few other things) since he’d only brought the two outfits… but Kent hadn’t minded.

He looked down at his chest and smiled, seeing the logo for one of the dumb, touristy things here that Swoops had given him. It had turned into something of a joke now, and he’d been gifted several t-shirts from shopping malls and casinos and famous Vegas restaurants, each from different players on Kent’s team. These boys.

Making his way to the kitchen, Bitty started pulling out various supplies, and clicking through the ipad on the counter, putting together a large order. He knew that after that phone call, he would need to work through some things, and he might as well get prepared in case he got in the zone. After a few minutes, he ran out of room on the island, and started laying things on the other counters, pulling out mixing bowls and Kent’s good marble rolling pin, pushing appliances to the side.

When his hands hit it, he stopped, almost dropping everything.

What the hell. How- when-

Bitty shook his head in exasperated fondness. He had no idea when Kent managed to do this, but they were going to have a Talk when he got back from the movies, and quite possibly, Bitty was going to have to hug him again.

Because right there, on the counter, was a glorious red and white KitchenAid stand mixer. Just like the ones Bitty always looked at in catalogues, but hadn’t bought himself yet. Not even with Jack. He’d always told himself it was a silly expense, since he was perfectly capable of baking and cooking without one. But lord, here it was.

He knew that it hadn’t been here two weeks ago. He would have seen it, for one thing. The bright and cheery red stood out from all the granite and dark espresso wood in the kitchen. And all of Kent’s other appliances were brushed steel. And Bitty had seen Kent’s fridge. There were all the packaged meals from his delivery service, and of course, the bare basics like eggs and bread and juice. But nothing resembling the kind of scratch preparations that a stand mixer would be used for.

The only explanation for the stand mixer’s appearance was that Kent had to have bought it for him. Which, now that he thought about it, sounded exactly like Kent. Kent could never do anything in moderation, and that included his generosity. But Bitty had started to learn that Kent was also uncomfortable being the center of positive affection, at least, when he was unprepared for it. He seemed to be all right with media cameras and his social media presence… but the soft, genuine warmth and fondness that Bitty would absolutely have shown him, had Kent given him this gift directly? Bitty shook his head. Kent wouldn’t have known what to do with himself, and would have blushed and avoided the contact… while craving it like he was starving.

Well. He would just have to fix that. Kent had never answered him when Bitty had asked about favorite pies. He knew everyone else’s. Kovey liked lymmonyk, just like Alexei. Swoops would eat anything, of course, though sweet and tangy cherry tartlets seemed to be the treat that made him happiest. Bitty flicked through the instacart pages on the iPad as he talked out loud, marking off all the things he would need. He could bake everyone’s favorite. That wouldn’t be too hard, right? And since he wasn’t sure what Kent would like best, he would just have to make as many recipes as he could. Besides, he needed to make sure that stand mixer got broken in properly.

* * *

 

“Dude, are you trying to break your fingers?”

Kent looked up at Swoops, who was using the red light to sweep a concerned gaze over him.

“Um. No?”

Swoops put a hand on his shoulder, then drove on. “You’ve tried to crack your knuckles three times in the last five minutes. Is… is there something you want to tell me?” he asked gently. “Bro, I know we’ve joked about me dragging you to go see this movie, but if you really don’t want to go, that’s totally okay. Kent, I would never ever make you do something you really don’t want to do, you know that right?”

The tension in his chest loosened a little. “Dude, yeah. Of course I do.” And he did. All his time out here had definitely taught him that about Jeffrey. Half of Kent’s brain was still stuck on Alyosha, and hearing his deep voice say that he loved him. A chunk of his brain was stuck on Eric too, but he was steadfastly ignoring that. Kent thought about Alyosha’s big nose, and his wide smile, how his eyes had shone when he’d said the words, and how his lips looked, when he kissed his hand and blew out towards Kent, sharing his affection. “I’m cool with this.”

Jeff nodded, and even though he opened his mouth to say something else, he didn’t.

So, this was how it felt to actually be happy. No wonder people wanted to talk about their partners all the damn time. Kent bit his lip. He wanted to talk about this with someone, about how he was actually happy right now, and who was making him happy. He wanted to talk about how lucky he felt, and since Swoops had always been someone who helped Kent, and who worried about him, Kent wanted to talk to him. But… would Alyosha be okay with that?

Kent figured he could at least try to act like a responsible adult here. Pulling out his phone, he shot off a quick text.

 

**KVP: hey <3 um, can i tell someone? not press or anything… just my best friend. and my therapist. **

**KVP: should probs tell my mgr too**

**KVP: but omg if u don’t want to, that’s totally ok**

**KVP: i understand if u want to keep it just us**

Shit. Should he have sent so many messages? Also like, way to have absolutely no fucking chill. But of course, Alyosha came through, and understood him. As he always did.

 

**Alyosha: of course Kenosha. You trust, I trust. Maybe not too many? Just for now? We can talk about more later.**

**Alyosha: Next skype. But those people ok. I’m tell George, if you say is fine. Love you <3 ))))))))))**

**KVP: yeah sure. love u too <3 <3 <3 :DDDDD **

Kent couldn’t keep the sappy grin from spreading across his face. Alyosha wanted to tell people too. He was planning on keeping Kent around. And god, but that was a nice feeling, and a worry he didn’t even know he’d been worrying about lifted from his shoulders.

Swoops laughed. “Parse, you look like someone just told you Crosby’s retiring. What’s up?”

“I’m dating Mashkov.”

* * *

 


	9. You Break It, You Buy It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is definitely Kent's day for having conversations he should have had a long time ago, but at least he's finally having them. Closet doors are disintegrating all over the place. And Jenny wins a bet. 
> 
> Something lurking inside Bitty finally catches up with him. It was only a matter of time, really.

* * *

 

_"I'm dating Mashkov."_

* * *

 

Swoops’ foot stuttered on the gas, but he recovered quickly. Shit, he hadn’t meant to be that blunt. And Swoops had always seemed cool about people who weren’t straight? He’d done like, three videos for You Can Play, and he used pride tape for the games and shit, fuck – what if he’d just completely fucked up ­ _everything_ –

“-whoa, Kent, breathe dude, it’s okay?” Swoops was pulling off the road, _fuck fuck shit-_

“I promise, I’m not mad or upset, I just- I just want to make sure you’re okay, Kent. Kent, you hear me?”

He did. He should nod. Kent nodded, slowly, feeling like his head was made of lead. He chanced a look up, and Swoops was right there, all big shoulders and warm eyes, his hands heavy on Kent’s shoulders, keeping him grounded.

“Kent, can you focus enough to listen to what I’m saying?”

Yeah. Yeah, he could do that. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Swoops said, letting out a heavy breath. “Bro, I’m sorry for fucking that up. First and foremost, I totally support you, no matter what,” he said, stressing every word. “Okay? Forever and always, bud. I got your back, on the ice and off it. No matter who you’re dating, or who you love or what, all right?”

Kent nodded again, slower this time. Maybe this wasn’t going that ugly place, like he’d first thought.

Swoops sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry Kent. I should have started with that, that’s my fault. I’m sorry you had to question whether that was the case, man.”

Kent took a deep breath. “Sorry,” he said, but Swoops squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. Just like Eric had said. Maybe this really would be okay. “You have done nothing wrong.”

Swoops gave him a reassuring smile, and Kent did actually feel the tension leaving his shoulders in coils. “Thanks, man.”

“No worries, Parser. So,” he said. “Mashkov, huh?”

Kent couldn’t help the smile on his face. “Yeah. Um. We uh… that’s what the texting was? I’m not outing him or anything. Well, I sort of am, but I was asking him if I could tell a couple people, best friends and managers, you know, and he-”

“Aw, dude? I’m you’re best friend?” Swoops actually looked surprised.

“Duh.” Like there was any question, or anyone else in the fucking running. There were plenty of guys on the team he liked, but no one had been there for him like Swoops.

“Okay, I’m going to ignore the fact that you’re talking like a sixth grade girl and just hug you, okay Kent?” Swoops waited a second, but Kent smiled and opened his arms.

“Bring it in, big guy.”

After a minute or two, or maybe longer, Kent didn’t know, it was just nice to be held for a change, Swoops pulled back and smiled, ruffling Kent’s hair. He ignored Kent’s squawk of indignance, and leaned back. “I mean, I was kind of wondering when you might tell me,” he said. “You two always hang out when we’re on roadies, and he’s the one you get your toes done with, right?”

Kent nodded, “Yeah, we- wait, what do you mean, you were waiting for me to tell you?”

“I saw the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you.”

“Shit, does the team-”

Swoops snorted. “Those idiots? Dude, they’re completely heteronormatively challenged. No one thinks you’re not straight, mostly because it wouldn’t occur to them.”

“But… you?” Kent knew he had a question, but he didn’t quite know how to form it.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” Kent said. “How… um, how did you know, I guess? Are you like, the only straight guy on the team that acknowledges the existence of other options?”

Of all the responses he’d expected, Kent hadn’t expected Swoops to laugh. “Bro, I hate to break this to you, but I’m not straight.”

“What the fuck?” he said. “You’re- but- what about Jenny?”

“I’m bi, dude. I mean, I can’t fault you for not knowing, since I never came right out and said that… but like, seriously Parser, I wear the bi flag colors every June. I’ve done like, three segments for You Can Play. I use the tape, and besides you, I’m the one who shuts down any whisper of that homophobic crap when I get wind of it… I’m the one who convinced management that the Aces should buy a float in the Vegas Pride Parade…. You really thought I was like, this hyper woke ally the whole time?”

Kent was struck dumb for the second time today, but this time he couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up from his chest. “Hey, a guy can dream right? That one day, there’ll be a straight guy who actually like, gives a shit just because it’s the right fucking thing to do?”

That made them both laugh. Swoops ruffled his hair again, but Kent didn’t mind this time.

“Just so you know, Jenny’s bisexual too. She’s cool with you knowing. To be perfectly honest, I think she thinks you already do know.”

Kent giggled again, the relief turning into a kind of euphoria, and then a full on laugh that he couldn’t stop, even if he had wanted to. “Fuck, Alyosha was right.”

“Who?”

“Tater. Mashkov,” Kent said.

“Jeez, with the pet names. It’s cool,” Swoops said at Kent’s look. “Right about what?”

“When we told each other,” Kent said, “when we uh, when we came out to each other earlier… he was joking with me, asked if I had any straight friends at all.”

Swoops laughed too, then he caught himself, and leveled Kent with a look. “Wait just one god damn minute,” he said, “when you say, ‘earlier’, Kent Parson, are you trying to tell me that you are Mashkov like, came out to each other _earlier today_?”

“Um…. Yeah?”

“Dude. Parse.”

“What?”

“The actual fuck.”

“Seriously, what?”

“I thought you guys have been together for like, two years!” Swoops leaned all the way back in his seat, looking gobsmacked. “Seriously, I thought you guys had been together for like, ever.” He paused, looking at the sheepish look on Kent’s face. “How long?”

“Um…”

Swoops groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For the love of Christ, Parser, why are you looking at your watch?”

“Because it’s been like, approximately thirty-seven minutes?”

Swoops opened and closed his mouth several times without actually saying anything, then reached over and patted Kent on the head. “Extra as fuck, bro. You have no chill whatsoever.” He grimaced. “And I’m pretty sure that I owe Jen like, two hundred bucks.”

Kent knew that Swoops was right, that he was absolutely, definitely the least cool person who ever lived. But he had a best friend who knew that he was dating a guy, and still loved him. So that was okay. “Wait, why?”

Swoops groaned. “She was convinced that you and Mashkov were in love, but hadn’t told each other yet. Ugh, when I tell her, she’s gonna be insufferable.” Swoops looked up. “If, if I can tell her, that is.”

“Um, sure?” Kent said. “I trust Jenny. And Alyosha said if I trust someone, it’s okay.”

Swoops smiled softly. “Thanks, Parse. That means a lot to us. But,” he said, looking excited, “Jenny bet me that you guys were like, for real in love! If you just started dating then you-” he cut himself off with a laugh. “You did. You did, you sweet, romantic little fucker. You told him you love him. Didn’t you.”

It definitely wasn’t a question, and the grin on Swoops’ face assured Kent that Swoops certainly wasn’t upset with him, or mad at all. “Um. Yeah… in my defense, he said it too?”

“Awwwwww, you guys are like, Lifetime movie levels of adorable. Seriously, I’m happy for you, bro. But I stand by my earlier statement, you have no fucking chill whatsoever.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alyosha loves me though, so I don’t care.”

They sat there, happy and comfortable for a few minutes, secure in each other’s safety and company. Then Swoops spoke. “Can I… can I ask, are you like, strictly into dudes? You don’t have to answer,” he said, his hands up in a surrender, “I’m just curious. I don’t want to use the wrong word for you when I tell Jenny.”

Kent laughed. It was so nice to be able to actually talk about this. “I- I haven’t really done a whole lot of talking about it out loud? Unless you count to Kit and Purrs,” he said. Swoops was quiet, but he nodded, allowing Kent to continue in his own pace. “I- I don’t really like calling myself gay,” he said slowly, “not that there’s anything wrong with being gay. Just like, I- I’ve dated some girls, a couple… and I was cool with that? Like, I do like girls, I guess I just have a more specific set of what I find attractive in them?” Swoops nodded again.

“Makes sense to me,” he said. “Have you thought about maybe using bisexual for yourself?”

This was absolutely not where he thought this conversation was going to go, but honestly, Kent wouldn’t trade it for anything. “Not really? Again, not that there’s anything wrong with it… it just, it doesn’t totally feel like it fits, if that makes sense?” he said, biting his lip.

“Definitely makes sense, Parser. You’re all good, I promise.”

Kent let out the air in his lungs in a whoosh. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” he said easily. “Just because it works for me doesn’t mean it has to work for you.”

“I- I haven’t said a lot of these words out loud,” Kent admitted. And shit, that felt like a weight off his chest.

“That’s fine too,” Swoops said. “You can always try out anything with me, if you want to, okay? And I’m sure Jenny would be happy to be a sounding board for you. And you know you have Mashkov, and you know he loves you, right?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah, I do,” he said, grinning again.

“Sap,” Swoops teased fondly. “But yeah. You can talk stuff over with him. And hey, maybe Eric too. Growing up where he did, he may have tried a few labels out too. Maybe he’s got some advice.”

And fuck, there was that stupid flutter in his stomach again. All Kent had to do was think of Eric, and he felt like a dumb middle-schooler with a crush. A crush that he could not have, not in a million years. Maybe he could distract himself with spaceships, and lasers that blew stuff up. “Um, should we get going?” he said, gesturing to the road again. “at least we’ll miss the trailers.”

Swoops laughed. “Dude, we missed more than those. Movie’s gonne be half over by the time we get there.”

“Sorr-”

“No,” Swoops said, holding up a hand, “none of that. This was way better than the movie, and I’ve already seen it three times anyway. I just like spending time with you. And since you’ve officially dubbed me the best friend, I’m allowed to say dorky shit like that.”

Kent felt something warm blooming in his chest.

“If you want, we can just go back to your place, and tell Eric that you changed your mind. Or that like, you got distracted when we drove past the cat café on Main. He’ll believe that.”

Eric absolutely would believe that. “Um, yeah, that’s- that’s fine. We can go back, if you want…” Kent remembered something. “Yeah, we uh, we might need you actually? And your truck?”

Swoops arched an eyebrow. “Why do you need my truck? I mean, I trust Eric to drive it more than you, but-”

“Hey!”

“Eric’s never gotten a ticket. Why do you need it anyway?”

Kent rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, before I left… that’s actually why I texted you? He… he had a rough phone call, I think. With- with his boyfriend.”

“Jack?”

Kent was silent.

“He told me,” Swoops said carefully, and Kent appreciated that he was keeping his tone casual. “About a week ago, when you were rolling around on the floor with the demon.”

“Kit is a god damn princess, and you know it.”

“Sure,” he said. “Anyway,” he said, pulling out and swinging back into traffic to head back to Kent’s apartment, “Eric told me he came out here to get some space from Zimmermann. I don’t blame him, it sounds like he went through the emotional wringer. And this is about as far from New England as it’s possible to get, without leaving the continental U-S. Or you know, going out to Oregon or California. But out there’s like, either on fire or completely drenched in rain, so Vegas it is.”

Kent nodded. Eric hadn’t told Swoops about Kent and Jack. He had kept Kent’s privacy, without being asked to. And something about that made a deep knot of _something_ curl up in Kent’s chest, purring like a beast that had finally been soothed. He hadn’t even known that this fear existed until this very second, but Eric had just taken care of him. Kent couldn’t put a name to this, whatever it was, only that it was too big for him to deal with properly right now.

He did what he always did when things got uncomfortably intimate, and talked about someone else. “When we get there, there’s gonna be food.”

“Parser, Eric’s been at your house for two weeks. There is literally always food in your apartment now.”

“Yeah, but… there’s gonna be a lot. Eric is stress-baking.”

Swoops appeared to be considering for a minute. “How much is a lot?”

Kent smiled wryly. “You might need to call Jenny to come over with the station wagon.”

 

* * *

Bitty had no idea of how much time had passed. He only knew he was running out of counter space. Still. That was the real problem. He still had a Pears Charlotte that was only halfway through getting done, and there were currently four pies in the oven. Kent only had three sets of cookies sheets, but they were all covered. And he was running out of chocolate chips. That bag had to have lied, no way in hell were there actually five pounds of chips in that thing. He couldn’t possibly have gone through five pounds. The trash was full of juiced rinds and watermelon seeds and cherry and peach pits, and there was a brown paper grocery bag on the floor with apple cores inside. Those he could take out back, and the birds would love them. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Kent Parson lived in a fucking penthouse, but there was no god damn counter space and-

“Wha- whoa, whoa Eric, what’s-” Kent cut himself off again, then gently pulled Bitty’s hands away from the measuring cups. When had Kent even gotten back here? “It’s okay,” Kent said softly, “it’s okay… just breathe.”

Bitty couldn’t figure out what was going on, why was Kent talking to him like this, like he needed the reassurance? Like he was upset, he wasn’t upset- well, maybe he was, but it wasn’t because of something serious, he just couldn’t get what he wanted, he needed more counter space, he-

Oh. Bitty had moved his hands up to push Kent away, but he’d wiped his eyes instead, and his hands had come away wet. He was crying. So that was why Kent was doing this. Bitty slumped against him, but instead of pushing him away, Kent’s strong arms wrapped around him, holding him tight, holding him together.

“I’m breathing, Kent,” he managed to whisper out, his voice harsh and raspy from disuse. “I’m- I’m okay. Sort of.”

Bitty heard a low whistle and looked up. “Jenny? Oh hi,” he said, wiping his eyes and trying to stand up – when had he sat down on the floor? – but she just smiled softly and hushed him.

“You stay down there Eric, it’s okay. After all this, I would need a sit down too,” she said, looking over the kitchen.

For the first time, Bitty looked up over the counters, and really noticed what he’d done over the last few hours.

A thread laugh escaped him. “Sorry, I guess I got a bit carried away.” He looked over at Kent, feeling suddenly shy. “I did warn you, it might be a lot.”

“And I told you, I know a bunch of guys that eat their weight every day,” he said, his smiled confident and gentle. “It’s okay, Eric. We’ll find someone to eat it all.”

“I made everyone’s favorite,” he said softly, “everyone’s I know. Jeffrey, the tartlets over there,” he pointed to the corner, “those are for you. And Jenny, don’t you dare let him eat those blondie bars. Those are yours, you hear?”

She grinned, then stuck her tongue out at her husband. “Mine,” she said. “Thanks, cutie.”

“Sure thing, hun,” he said softly, almost without thinking about it. “When the timer goes off, the pies need to come out,” he said absently, nodding when Swoops promised he would take them out carefully, and he held up the oven mitts.

Bitty smiled, though he still felt hollow. Usually a spree like this at least filled up something.

Kent though, he could tell something wasn’t right. He gave Bitty a squeeze while Swoops and Jenny started organizing things. “You okay?” he said softly. Softly enough that it was definitely only meant for his ears. He knew he probably shouldn’t, especially so soon after the phone call with Jack, but he leaned into Kent’s touch. He couldn’t help it. Bitty knew that it was probably some level of selfish, to be taking comfort from Kent like this, to take this warmth and kindness, and care that Kent was giving him so freely, especially when Kent clearly didn’t mean it like Bitty hoped he did. Kent definitely wasn’t interested in him. If Bitty didn’t know better, he would say that Kent and Alexei were a thing, but Bitty didn’t want to think about that right now.

All he could think about was how nice it felt to be here, and to have Kent’s arms around him, like he actually cared, to be the one being taken care of, for a fucking change. “I’m okay, I think,” he said. “Thanks, Kenny.” The nickname slipped out without a thought, and though Bitty tensed for a moment, Kent didn’t say anything. He just held him tighter, and leaned their foreheads together. Bitty felt the fight drain out of him, along with the manic baking energy that had possessed him over the last few hours, and all he felt now was exhaustion. And pain. “Ow,” he mumbled.

Kent’s arms immediately loosened, which was exactly the opposite of what Bitty had wanted to happen. “I’m sorry,” he said, rushing to fix whatever he had done.

“Oh sugar, you didn’t do anything,” Bitty said, leaning back into Kent’s embrace and fumbling around to grasp Kent’s arms when he didn’t hold him again. “You’re fine, it’s me,” he grumbled. “My hands hurt,” he said. “You ‘n Jenny were right… I guess I just outdid myself.”

Bitty tried again to grasp Kent’s wrists, but he couldn’t do it properly. His fingers – especially his thumbs – weren’t behaving properly. He couldn’t get the grip he needed. It was like he’d been outside in the cold, and his joints were too slow to respond… almost like there was molasses inside his bones, and he couldn’t make his fingers bend the way they were supposed to. A soft whine of both frustration and pain escaped his mouth as he tried and failed again to take hold of Kent’s hands.

“Oh my god, Eric.”

Bitty whined again when Kent took his wrists. This was definitely more pain than he’d ever felt from a baking spree before.

“Eric, your wrists are really swollen,” he said, sounding worried. This was that soft voice that Kent used when he talked to his rookies. Like that time Kovey had sprained his ankle in practice, and Kent had needed to convince him not to keep playing. “I don't think you should bake anymore today, okay? Please, Eric?”

The softness in Kent's voice was so comforting, but Eric couldn't relax into it, even though Kent was clearly giving it everything he had. Because Bitty could see Kent holding his wrists, he could see Kent's steady fingers touching him… but he could not feel it. His wrists had gone numb. Bitty couldn't get his mouth to form the words. The fear gripped his heart, shaking it inside his chest until he was trembling, but Kent just held him, murmuring soft things.

“Come with me to the igloo tomorrow.”

Bitty looked up from where his face had been tucked into Kent's neck. There was a wet patch on Kent's t-shirt from Bitty's tears. This he could focus on. “Why? Why do you want me to do that?”

Kent smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on Bitty's wrists that he still couldn't feel. “I want you to get checked out. By my trainer. Rashidah will take good care of you, I promise.” Kent bit his lip, then kept going. “I don't like how swollen they are.” He looked like he wanted to say more, to maybe admonish Bitty for pushing himself too hard, and Bitty had an argument ready. There was no way that Kent Parson, who pushed himself so hard on the ice that sometimes he came home shaking, barely able to stand, needing ice baths even outside the arena, was going to get off telling him to take it easy and respect his body's needs.

But Kent didn't say that. He didn't say any of that. Instead, he said, “I know what it feels like, to wanna forget. To fill every minute with anything, as long as it's not him, or to keep your brain so fucking busy that you stop replaying the last thing he said to you.” It was so quiet, Bitty almost missed it. Kent's eyes were focused on Bitty's hands in his. It seemed to be the only way Kent was able to get the words out.

“Kent, honey,” Botty didn't know how to address this, so he stuck with something easier. “I'm okay, sweetheart. I just- I just got a bit carried away, is all. I just need a break. And it's not like I haven't had sore wrists before.” Which was true.

Kent’s shoulders tensed up. “Please don’t be like me.”

“What, honey?” Bitty didn’t understand, but he knew one thing. He saw the look on Kent’s face, the one he was coming to know so well, that the words were costing him. And Bitty knew that he didn’t want to be the reason for that. He leaned his head on Kent’s shoulder again, offering all the comfort he could, since he couldn’t hold Kent’s hand.

“I do this,” Kent said, glancing up, and Bitty followed his gaze to see that Swoops and Jenny were quietly going about the business of packing up the food and getting it where it needed to go, whether that was into the fridge, freezer, or to-go containers destined no doubt for their cars. Kent looked back at him, and Bitty saw the light grey in Kent’s eyes, the way they always got when he was scared.

“I do this, I push and push and push myself,” he said, “I don’t care if I get hurt, because I think I don’t have a reason not to. I push until I break. Because then maybe I’ll have a reason to be hurting. Please, Eric… please don’t be like me.”

“Oh, honey…” Eric nuzzled him, not caring for the moment that Kent was probably just trying to look out for a friend, that Kent certainly didn’t feel anything else towards him, and only thought about wanting to be close to him, to soothe him, and wipe the fear and worry from his face. “I won’t, okay? I’m all right.”

“Please come to see Rashidah with me.” Kent bit his lip, clearly thinking, then added, “if you don’t, I swear by my cats, I will replace all the butter in the fridge with margarine.”

“Kenilsworth Veruca Parson, don’t you dare,” Bitty said, attempting to remain grumpy and scandalized, but his affection crept through every syllable.

Kent laughed softly. “Still not my name. But I’ll do it if I have to. I swore on the cats,” he explained. “They care about you. If you don’t take care of those hands, you won’t be able to pet them anymore.”

“All right, sweetie. I know when I’m beat.” And he couldn’t take much more of this soft, caring Kent without doing something monumentally stupid, like kissing him. “I’ll go.”

Kent gave him one of the softest smiled Bitty had seen yet. How in the hell could the press think that pasted-on monstrosity was the real Kent Parson smile, when this one was so glorious?

“Thanks.”

 

* * *

“What?” He’d heard the words, but they hadn’t made sense. It was like Rashidah has said them to someone else.

Kent squeezed his shoulder. Thank the lord for Kent. He’d come in with him, and apparently arranged to see his trainer more than two hours before practice, so that he could be there for him, with him. So Bitty wouldn’t have to do this alone.

Rashidah gently touched his knee. “It’s okay, I understand that this can be difficult. I just want to check, you did say the numbness happens on a recurring basis?”

Bitty nodded, not wanting to look up at Kent, to see the worry he knew would be etched into the lines of his face. “Yeah. Not like, not all the time,” he said. “Just… usually after I bake up a storm like I did yesterday.”

Kent’s face was softer when Bitty chanced a glance up. “He baked enough to stock three weddings.”

Rashidah’s dark eyes went wide. “Do you do that a lot, Eric?”

“Not really…. But baking is a stress-relief thing,” he said. “Is… is that bad?”

“Certainly not,” she said, leaning back against her counter. “Having tools to cope with stress is good, and there are certainly worse ways you could be coping. You’re creating something from nothing, and if, as I suspect, the chocolate ganache in the lounge this morning was your doing?” She paused, and when Bitty nodded sheepishly, she gave him a friendly pat. “Then you’re pretty darn good at it.”

“Thanks, ma’am.”

“Seriously, Rashidah is fine. Ma’am makes me feel like my mother,” Rashidah grinned. “I don’t think a single one of these guys have ever called me that.”

Bitty gave Kent a look, and he laughed, putting his hands up.

“I’ve been polite, haven’t I? I’m just not a southern gentleman.”

“You’ve been great, Kent. But I can’t help but notice, Eric… you’ve changed the subject.”

Dang it. Caught again. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. But you can’t ignore your wrists forever. This problem will only get worse if you do.”

Bitty’s voice was small. “What problem is that again, exactly?”

“Carpal tunnel.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being patient! I had a combination of NaNo burn-out (churning out 50k in such a short time kinda bankrupted my creativity/energy stores), but I'm doing better on both fronts. I also know that I'll have less time for writing during the holidays, and I didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long. 
> 
> I do have a backlog of a couple chapters still, so I should be able to stick with at least one a week, even over the holiday season. (Even though I have a trans-oceanic flight and vacation planned). 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for all my comments, I always treasure each one (and flail like a DORK whenever I see them)!
> 
> Happy Holidays to each and every one of you, no matter what you celebrate. May 2018 bring you joy and prosperity. <3


	10. The Knitter's Curse and Murphy's Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty gets his official diagnosis, and some things that Tater's been tiptoeing around come to a head.

* * *

_Bitty’s voice was small. “What problem is that again, exactly?”_

_“Carpal tunnel.”_

* * *

Bitty heard Kent gasp next to him, and then try to cover it with a cough. Bless Kent for trying not to make him worry. It wasn’t working, not at all. But bless him for trying anyway. He’d heard those words before, but he wasn’t really sure what it meant for him.

When he asked Rashidah to explain, she smiled gently. “I can’t give you that diagnosis officially, Eric, you understand. CT needs a specific test to diagnose it, with electrodes. But unofficially? I’m about ninety-eight percent sure that’s what’s happening here. You’ve got all the classic symptoms, and here, see this?” She laced her fingers through his and gently pressed upward, raising his hand and stretching it back. “The left tendons and muscles in your wrist are heavily swollen.” Bitty saw them. The raised knot of tissue in his wrist that was beginning to ache even from this small motion.

“It feels like there’s an ache actually inside your wrists, right?”

“Yeah.” She was right, after all. There was nothing to do but agree.

Rashidah nodded. “Sounds like a pretty open-and-shut case to me. Now listen, I’m not your official doctor, so you should definitely go see them to get tested for certain, okay? Then you can begin treatment.”

“Um…” How could he even begin to explain that he’d flown out here on a whim, and his real doctor was thousands of miles away?

Rashidah was ahead of him though. “Are you on HMO through your job? If you are, I can write you a referral for the test, to cut down on your insurance costs.”

Bitty nodded mutely. That was probably what he needed anyway. He’s just signed up for whatever was the cheapest plan at work. Since he and Jack hadn’t been married, or even out, he couldn’t be on Jack’s insurance.

“I’d really like for you to get tested within the week Eric,” she said. Bitty felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Kent came to his rescue. “I’ll make sure we get it scheduled, Rashi.”

Bitty leaned back, and Kent’s arm was right there, holding him up.

“Sounds good, Parse. Here, let’s get you some braces before you go.”

* * *

Kent had decided to skip practice that morning. It was optional anyway, and he’d only come in to be there for Eric anyway. And right now, Eric was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, quieter than he had ever been, staring at his hands in the thick navy blue braces from Rashidah and looking like he might cry any second.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Kent said, plowing ahead despite the crack in his voice. This was the first time since Eric came out here that he’d really had to carry the conversation by himself. “Whatever’s wrong, we can fix it. We’ll figure something out, okay? Eric, I promise… it’s gonna be okay.”

God, but Eric’s eyes could get huge. “Y’know…” he sniffed, and Kent really hoped he wasn’t about to cry, because if he was, ten to one Kent would cry too, and they would never get home. Important conversations in cars seemed to be a theme this week.

“Y’know, you can call me ‘Bitty’, if you want…. Every- everyone does.”

Which, wasn’t strictly true, Kent thought. No one out here called him that. He was ‘Eric’ to just about everyone he’d met. People who knew him, people who cared about him…. People who loved him… they were the ones who called him ‘Bitty’. Well. Kent knew he certainly fit that description, but Eric didn’t need to know that.

“You sure?”

Eric – Bitty – nodded fiercely, and that was the first time this morning Kent had seen any kind of fire in him.

“You got it, Bitty,” he said. Anything to keep that spark lit. “Itty Bitty Bits,” he said softly, resisting the urge to punch the air when Bitty smiled. Success. Now, they just had to get home, where even with the braces that Rashidah had made him promise to wear, Bitty could still pet the cats. That could help. And they could watch the Say Yes To The Dress marathon that Kent had all queued up, and order takeout from Bitty’s favorite Chinese place- shit. Chinese food required a whole lot of finagling with either silverware or chapsticks. Damn it.

Fuck his diet plan, they could order milkshakes from down the street. They could drink lunch. And if Bitty pestered him about it, he could say it was a cheat day. There. That would be okay. He could figure this out… even though Bitty had come out here to sort out his own head, he’d been doing a pretty swell job of taking care of Kent so far. Time to return the damn favor.

* * *

With Rashidah’s letter, it only took a few days to get everything scheduled. Kent offered to go with Bitty, and the swoop he felt in his stomach when Bitty said yes and hugged him was familiar by now.

Kent had sat there with him while the doctor had explained everything, and held his hand in the car on the way back home, the official diagnosis hanging over them as they drove in silence. He knew why Bitty was upset. The doctor had been very clear. No heavy use of his hands. No heavy lifting, no more than ten pounds of pressure. Otherwise there could be permanent damage to his nerves, and he could lose strength, range of motion, and even feeling in his wrists and hands.

No cooking. No baking.

Kent understood by now that this was like the doctor telling him he couldn’t skate. He imagined that maybe, he could understand a little bit of how Bitty was feeling… and found his mind wandering toward the holiday break. It was soon… just a few more weeks. If Bitty stayed, if he was still here, Alyosha would be out here too… they could do something nice for him, take care of him. Really pull out all the stops, and-

Of course, that would require talking to Bitty about his plans. His future plans… most of which had officially fizzled out upon hearing the doctor confirm Rashidah’s opinion. No cooking meant that Bitty couldn’t go ahead with trying to score as a personal chef. Or even type up his recipes. Damn. This might be harder than he thought.

Kent knew he’d been pathologically avoiding talking about his feelings, particularly his feelings about Bitty –whatever they were, and he wasn’t sure yet, but he was having a hard time convincing himself they were just ‘buddies’ – and how easy it had been to start calling him that, how easy it had been to fit him right into his life -  with anyone, including himself… least of all Alyosha and Bitty himself.

Well, he’d dug his own grave on this one. He might have to lie in it. First things first though, he really ought to talk to Alyosha before doing anything else. And…. It might be easier to have that conversation in person. It wasn’t proscrastination, or avoidance… it was easier for Alyosha to have difficult conversations in person. He could listen better, and read Kent’s face better.

And Kent could touch him, and reassure him that no matter how he felt about Bitty, and he was slowly accepting that it might not be as much of a ‘strictly proximity thing’ as he’d originally believed, he still loved Alyosha. He could make sure Tater knew that. Whatever he felt for Bitty, and he knew he felt something, Kent knew he loved Alyosha. Maybe they could figure the rest out. He just had to hope that once he came clean, Alyosha wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t take that.

* * *

Tater knocked carefully on Jack’s door, much more carefully than he usually did. He hadn’t been by as much over the last month and a half, and whenever he’d seem Jack, both at the rink and at home, he hadn’t been very chatty. He barely went out with the team, barely answered calls, and had declined going running with Tater seven times in a row. Eventually, Tater had taken the hint, and stopped asking.

But this was different. This was the day before their holiday week actually began, and whatever was going on, Tater had a present for him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Bitty was not back yet, and an uneasy thought that maybe, he knew what that meant, but he wouldn’t say it out loud, lest the suspicion materialize into truth. All he wanted was for his friends to be happy. True to his word, he had not told Jack where Bitty was, and had not asked Bitty about Jack again. That was their business, their job to work out.

No answer yet. Tater shifted the gift up on his hip, then knocked again, a bit more forcefully this time. Maybe Jack was in the back. Should he text him? Jack had agreed yesterday, at the arena, when Tater had asked if he could come by to deliver his present.

Just as he was debating on whether he should knock again, text Jack, or just leave the wrapped package outside the door, it opened, startling him. “Hi, Zimmboni.”

“Hi.” Jack was still grumpy. He’d been grumpy for nearly a month and a half. He would probably stay grumpy until Bitty came back… if he came back.

Tater went inside at Jack's gesture, not bothering to take off his hoodie as he remembered the last time he'd been over. “So,” he said, smiling and trying to bring some cheer to the dark and quiet apartment, “I'm bring your present. Not sure what you celebrate, so can be for whatever. Christmas, Hanukkah, anything.” He bit his lip. “Want you to be happy… Zimmboni seem sad last weeks, so want to bring present before vacation.”

He held out the box, wrapped very carefully in blue and silver paper. Kenosha had helped him pick it out between dozens of pictures sent back and forth. Tater felt the familiar holiday warmth in his chest as he watched Jack open the paper and pull out the sweater, blue, like his eyes.

“I skype with my babushka. Grandma,” he said, twisting his fingers inside his pockets, wanting Jack to know how much he cared. “Is long time since I'm knit with her, but she show me how again. Want to make special for you.”

The blue sweater was slightly lumpy, he thought, but considering it had been years since he'd done one properly, and he'd only found the time for this one by sneaking in quick knitting sessions in between games and practices, Tater was actually pretty pleased with how the whole thing had turned out. “What you're thinking, Zimmboni?” Tater had to work hard not to bounce on the balls of his feet. He was anxious, he knew, but all he wanted was for things between them to go back to the way they had been.

Jack held the sweater up to his shoulders. “You made this?”

Tater nodded. “ _Da_ , yes. Have to be careful,” he said, flexing his fingers, “not push too hard, mess up hands. But you and B worth it, Zimmboni.”

Jack smiled softly, and there was the Zimmboni he knew, the Zimmboni he so desperately missed. His best friend. “Thanks, Tater. This… it's really nice,” he said, and pulled it on right there.

Tater felt himself blush. “Not have to wear now,” he mumbled, but Jack shrugged.

“I want to.” He went around the kitchen island and started pouring himself a glass of water, but in the middle of opening the fridge, he paused. “Me and Bittle?” he asked.

“Sure,” Tater said, smiling at the picture of the Haus hung on the wall. “Are both best friends. But is okay, I’m give B present over break.”

Tater’s eyes went soft as he looked at the photograph, catching a glimpse of the red and white checked curtains Bitty had put up. He’d never gotten a chance to go to university; with everything hockey had given him, that was one thing it had taken away. Maybe someday, when he was done, maybe he could go. Hockey wouldn’t be forever, he knew that. School might be a good thing to keep him occupied then, to help him not get bogged down in thinking about the past, or-

“What do you mean, you’ll give Bittle his present over the break, Tater?”

Fuck. Fucking hell. Tater winced, glad he was turned away from Jack. He was sure that his face would have given him away. “Um, Zimmboni, I-” he bit his lip, trying to think. “I mean, I get present to him over break. Yeah.” He hated blaming things on a misunderstanding of English, on his brain. He hated using that excuse, allowing people to think he might be dumb like that… but Zimmboni wouldn’t think like that, right?

“Tater, it didn’t sound like that’s what you meant.”

Damn it.

“And I know you fake not understanding English to get out of pressers, I know that voice. Tell me what you meant.”

“Please, Zimmboni,” he said, turning around now. “Please, don’t make me say. I’m give promise.”

“Tater, what-” Jack clenched his fingers, flexing them several times before he deliberately relaxed his shoulders, putting his hands flat down on the kitchen island. “What the hell are you talking about? What promise? Did you promise Bittle something? Have you been talking to him? If you’re getting him his present over the break, that means you have to have his parents’ address.” When Tater said nothing, Jack kept talking. “Tater, what is going on?”

Searching for something to do with his hands, Tater fiddled with a loose string inside his hoodie. He looked anywhere in the apartment, desperate for something to focus on other than this. He promised Bitty he wouldn’t say anything, this was Bitty’s business, not his. He didn’t want to meddle, and he knew what had happened the last time he’d tried to talk to Jack about this… “Jack, please,” he said again, breathing hard and blinking, trying not to cry. Tears would not help right now. “Please, I’m not want to lie, and I’m not want to break promise to B.” He swallowed. “He not deserve that.”

“What, and I deserve to be lied to?”

“Zimmboni, no, don’t- please,” he said. Tater took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Calm meant that he could find the English he wanted much easier. “No, of course you’re not deserve that. I’m just- I talk to B first and-”

“So, because he got to you first, he’s got your loyalty?”

There was a rumbling in his gut, and Tater knew this feeling. This feeling belonged on the ice, not in his friends’ homes. He hated it when this feeling creeped up on him where it didn’t belong. “Zimmboni- Jack,” he said, closing his eyes, his hands balling into fists inside his pocket before he breathed out through his nose, forcing his fingers to straighten out. “Not twisting words, please. Don’t do that. Don’t try to- I can’t choose between. I’m love you both, I- please, I- I can’t. B ask me to promise, not to say, and-”

Jack was practically snarling. “What did Bittle say to you?”

“Jack, Please-”

“What the fuck did he say, Mashkov?!”

Tater rounded on him, the feeling in his chest sharp and hot now. Jack had never called him that, not even when he’d first started on the team. “Since when am I-”

“What the fuck did Bittle tell you that he couldn’t talk about with his parents?!”

“B not with parents!”

“Then where the fuck is-”

“B in Vegas with Kenosha!”

Tater was breathing hard, fists out. He knew he should not have said it. He promised he wouldn’t. He had promised, but Jack had just made him so _angry_ , Jack had just kept pushing and pushing, and now he wasn’t saying anything. Tater knew he had said enough, said too much actually. He couldn’t say anything else. At least, not until Jack gave him some kind of clue about where his head was.

Jack’s voice was low and quiet. “You mean to tell me that Bittle,” he said, “my Bittle, is out there, in the middle of the fucking desert… with Parson?” The name dripped from Jack’s mouth like slime, as though he couldn’t bear to have those syllables between his teeth and he wanted to get them out before they poisoned him any further.

The thing was back in Tater’s chest, and all of a sudden, he didn’t want to fight it. Tater didn’t want to shove it down, to hide it away where it couldn’t do any damage.

“You’re not have right to call him ‘yours’! B his own person, maybe is why he leave!” Tater knew he was beyond angry now, the kind of angry that he tried to leave on the ice, that he hated to feel running through his veins when he wasn’t wearing skates. When he was looking at a friend. But Jack had never, ever been like this.

Jack was incredulous. “You’re saying that _I_ made him leave?” Jack laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Me? When all that happened was that Bittle talked to Parse, and then got all kinds of ridiculous ideas in his head, and left? He told me- he left me a letter- you _saw_ it! He told me he was going to see his folks!”

Tater knew all of this. Jack had said it before, and even if he hadn’t, the skype conversations he’s had with Bitty over the last few weeks, Tater had gleaned bits and pieces from the story, and put the rest together.

“Tater, there’s more you’re not telling me!”

Jack wasn’t through yet. Fine. Then neither was he. “Kenosha not push anything,” he said firmly, making that as clear as he could. “He do nothing wrong, Jack. B say he is have these feelings for long time, he say they have to come out sometime.”

“And they just happened to come out after a long chat with my ex.” The sarcasm was thick and heavy in Jack’s tone, and his shoulders were shaking. Tater would almost have thought this might have been his anxiety, if not for the venom in Jack’s gaze. “Parse did this.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Tater said, “why-”

Jack spun around, pacing. “Because he’s miserable out there and the only way he can figure out to make himself feel better is by destroying the only happy thing he sees!” Jack yelled, punching his countertop and making Tater jump.

“If you think Kenosha miserable, you have lot to learn, Jack. He is not same kid you leave, not same kid you hurt years ago.”

“I don’t give a shit what he’s told you-”

“What he tell me?” It was Tater’s turn to be unconvinced. “What _you_ tell me, Jack! You tell me after draft, you never speak again. You never call, you never listen, never ask if he is okay. Maybe while in rehab, is excuse, but what about last ten years, huh? What your excuse for shut him out for ten years?”

“Jesus fuck,” Jack breathed. “He’s gotten to you too. Kent _lies_ , Tater,” he said, smacking the counter with every word. “Kent lies about everything. He says shit, and worms under your skin, he’ll say anything to-”

“Shut up!” Tater yelled. “No, I’m not listen to say awful things!” He knew his English was all to hell right now, but he didn’t give a damn. He wouldn’t stand here and listen to this, not without fighting back, since his Kenosha wasn’t here to fight for himself. Kenosha had never gotten a chance to say these things to Jack, so this would have to do. “You not know! I know. I’m one who hold Kent when nightmares get bad, when he hurt himself, or drink too much, or cry all night because he see you, on bathroom floor, cold and dead and not answer him. I’m one who comfort him when other friends go few days and not call over off season, because Kent scared they hate him, that he do something and never get told what he do wrong!”

His eyes prinked with hot tears, but Tater kept going, feeling the rage in his chest coiling around his heart. “I’m one who say soft things to B, watch him cry when he tell me how hard is to be with you, here, knowing that no one outside can see, know he can’t even hold your hand. I’m one who check on him, ask if he is okay, because B so upset he walk away from his whole life to get away from you, and he go to Kent because B know Kent understand! Kent know it feel to be second place to hockey. And you still have nerve to say Kent is what make B leave?”

Tater knew he should probably say something else, but that much English tore the energy from his bones and he just stood there, staring at Jack, who stared back, with wide eyes.

Finally, Jack spoke. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you.”

Tater couldn’t believe his ears.

“One of them. Which one?” Jack asked. “It’s Kent, right? That’s why you’re coming to his defense like this.”

Tater felt something inside him snap, like the birch trees in his village back home when the winds blew too hard, before the snow was built up high enough to save them. After a minute, he spoke, but his voice was quiet. “This is first time in my whole life I ever want to hit my friend. Good job, Zimmboni. Enjoy your sweater,” he said softly as he headed out. He locked eyes with Jack. “You don’t deserve it.”

Tater rode the elevator down in silence, and drove home. He had a flight in a few hours.

* * *

 


	11. Lights and Dampers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tater comes to visit Kent during their bye week, and Bitty has a revelation about his two friends. 
> 
> Bitty also realizes that he has more friends out here on the west coast than he'd ever thought he would. And even though some of the Aces are Grade-A Douchecanoes, some of them are downright lovely. 
> 
> Even though he's still struggling to deal with his CT, things are going okay. Better than okay. Pretty great actually. 
> 
> And then they all go to absolute hell.

* * *

 

_Tater rode the elevator down in silence, and drove home. He had a flight in a few hours._

* * *

 

Kent shifted from one foot to the other in the private lounge, checking his phone every five minutes. Nothing changed between checks. Alyosha’s plane had landed, and he was waiting for his luggage at baggage claim. Part of Kent wanted to run to him, to hold him right this minute and say soft things and promise that everything was going to be okay. He hated that Tater was in the same fucking building as him and they weren’t together.

Kent sighed, tapping his foot. But that’s why he was in here, in the private lounge. As soon as Tater walked in here, Kent could do all of that. He couldn’t do any of that at baggage claim. So he sat back down.

Tater had sounded so sad last night on the phone. He’d told Kent about his fight with Jack. None of the particulars, Alyosha was way too much of a gentleman for that. But the gist of it, yeah. And that Jack knew now, that Bitty was out here. Kent considered it a minor miracle that Jack hadn’t either called him to chew his ears off, or taken a fucking jet out here to punch him in the face.

Tater had said they could talk more about what happened, what Jack knew now, when they saw each other. Kent knew that was the smartest thing to do, and he could wait. Especially if it made Tater feel better. He was already speaking slowly, in the way he did when he didn’t have the energy to translate at socially acceptable speeds, and Kent was not about to push him to keep going. He would see him soon, and he would hold him and hug him and kiss him, and tell him that everything was going to be okay, that he loved him, that they could figure everything else out later. After latkes and applesauce, and in the warm glow of a menorah.

That was really why he’d made sure to get the private lounge. So he could hold his boyfriend and kiss him after a long difficult night… without the press turning their lives into a living hell.

Kent’s phone buzzed, and the door opened. And there he was. Tall and beautiful, standing there. Tater reached behind him to close the door, and then – Kent wasn’t sure how he’d gotten across the room so fast – but they were in each other’s arms. He was so warm, so big… and Alyosha was holding onto him for dear life.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed, feeling Alyosha’s shoulders trembling beneath his fingers. “I’m here, Lyosha, it’s okay.” This was a bit of a role reversal, but he certainly didn’t mind. Usually Tater was the one holding him, but this? Kent had known that he would need some comforting after the fight with Jack – Kent certainly knew how those could go – but this? Proof right here in his hands that Alyosha trusted him to do this… to hold him, to keep him from breaking. Kent could barely breathe with the force of the love swelling in his chest.

He said it out loud. It was the only thing he could do. “Ya teb-ya-” he said, trying to get the words out in his horrible broken Russian, for Tater, but switched back to English. He didn’t want to butcher such a beautiful language. “I love you, Lyosha, okay? I love you so much… whatever happened, we can fix it, it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna have a great week,” he said, murmuring anything that came into his head about the plans they’d been making for the vacation, about the restaurant he wanted to take Tater to, about how Jenny was dying to have the two of them over for a couples date night, anything. Through all of it, Tater held onto him, pulling him close, his head tucked into the crook of Kent’s neck, his breath shuddering on Kent’s skin.

Kent’s steady stream of whispered words eventually petered out, and as he cast around for something else to say, Tater squeezed him close, then finally pulled back a bit, but he didn’t let go. Kent was glad for that, and even happier to see a smile on Tater’s face.

“Spasibo, Kenosha. Thank you… love you too, so much,” he said quietly, his eyes bright, but so warm.

Kent surged forward, hugging him too, and letting Tater rest his chin on top of his head. “Love you, Lyosha.” A pause, and then, “I’m sorry you had a fight with your best friend.”

Tater nodded. “Me too. Need… some time, before we talk about it, is okay?”

“Of course.” Kent could give him all the time he needed. Kent would give Alyosha anything he asked. Though, this was the first time in years that he wasn’t afraid of getting burned that way.

Tater looked around the lounge. “B not here?”

Kent shook his head. “He’s been kinda down too,” he said. “Since he found out about his wrists,” Kent added, shouldering Tater’s duffel bag, and gently swatting his hand when he tried to take it back. “Hush, let me take care of you.”

Tater’s eyes went soft.

“If it makes you feel better, you can carry me from the den into the bedroom tonight,” Kent said, “after I get wine mom drunk on Manischewitz.”

There was Tater’s big belly laugh. His mission complete, Kent popped on his snapback and shades, leading Alyosha out, and back toward his apartment, excited for it to feel even more like home.

* * *

He was so lucky. Wild, fiery, beautiful Kenosha… loved him. Kent loved him… they’d said it over texts and skype before… but that was nothing, nothing to hearing it in person. To watching Kent’s whole body move, feeling the way Kent held him. With his height, he’d almost never been the little spoon, the one who got to feel safe and protected… he’d always done the protecting. Which was fine, of course it was… but it was awfully nice to be taken care of, for a change.

As they left they airport, Tater enjoyed the silence and the closeness in the car with Kent. No pressure to speak, no one getting upset with him for taking up so much space. He could stretch his legs, and he laughed when Kent stuck his tongue out as he pushed his seat all the way back.

Halfway there, he spoke again. “I know B is sad from what doctors say, about his wrists. How he’s doing?”

Kent sighed. “Considering the circumstances? And the timing? I think he’s doing okay. Not as great as he could be… but okay. He’s been having one hell of a month.”

Tater nodded. “Anything we can do?”

Kent smiled. “Well, obviously I figured you and I can have plenty of like, us time? You know, without anyone else there… but I know how much he loves you. So maybe between us, we can help snap him out of this funk.”

Tater thought for a minute, then grinned. “Mamochka’s latkes? Blini?”

“Oh fuck,” Kent said, grinning back. “Bringing out the big guns, huh? Mama Mashkova’s cooking?”

“Is best.”

“That’s for damn sure. Dude, I bet he’ll love that.”

“Um…” Tater fidgeted, wondering if this would be okay.

Kent caught him right away, of course he did. “Whatever it is, Lyosha, it’s okay… what’s up?”

“May have look online…. Queen Bey is give Christmas concert here. This week. Maybe she make B smile?”

“Maybe? Lyosha, Beyoncé would make him smile for a year,” Kent said. “If we don’t already have tickets though, she’s probably sold out. We can try though, definitely,” he said, and though Tater wished he had thought to buy tickets already, or at least asked George about getting some, he was content to sit there, holding Kent’s hand, and just be happy that he got to have this.

* * *

This was so incredibly stupid.

It wasn’t like he would never cook again. Or never use his hands again, or anything else his stupid brain had been throwing up at him over the last few weeks. And just because Rashidah and Dr. Collins had said to ‘take it easy’ was no reason to have this extended pity party.

A pity party that Kent had been unbelievably sensitive about, and indulgent with. Bitty hadn’t been cooking (or cleaning, or tidying, or talking, or even being generally pleasant company) for the last three weeks, and Kent had not pushed him, even once, to contribute more. Kent had just taken care of things. Made sure there was something vaguely edible either in the fridge or on the counters around mealtimes, kept the fridge stocked with extra smoothies marked with a ‘B’, because for all its health benefits, Bitty swore he would rather get hung by his toes from the ceiling than ingest anything with spirulina or wheat grass in it.

He couldn’t deny it, the shakes and smoothies were easy to eat. And whenever he’d wandered into the kitchen, trying to ignore the little voice in his head telling him that ‘one batch of cookies wouldn’t be so bad’ or ‘just some soup, that would be okay, right?’ he would see a post it note from Kent, or sometimes from Swoops, letting him know what the plans were for the next day or two, and to ice his wrists if he hadn’t done that in a while.

Bitty sighed, rubbing his face as he looked out over the view from Kent’s terrace. He’d sort of invaded these people’s lives, and tossed a whole load of drama at them, but they kept on helping him out. Making him feel welcome, and reminding him they cared. He also knew that they were being more than fair about how withdrawn and sulky he’d been over the last few weeks.

Well, this was one party that was long overdue to be over and done with. Kent and Alexei would be back from McCarran soon, he could tidy up for them. That wouldn’t be doing too much lifting or tricky hand work.

An hour later, the apartment looked much tidier, and Bitty had three bags of trash lined up in the hall, ready for the trash chute. He was itching to take them out himself, but he knew his wrists would not thank him for that, and if he did, Kent would fuss. Living with a professional athlete had its benefits, Bitty thought. There was always a full first aid kit stocked in Kent’s home gym, and plenty of ice packs for his wrists. The thick braces he had to sleep in were a new purchase, and felt weird as hell, but as he puttered around the den and the breakfast nook, tossing Kent’s paper plate from breakfast into the garbage, he had to admit they were doing their job.

His wrists were not as swollen as they were a few weeks ago, and though they were constantly in pain, it was a dull ache that he could push to a back burner, instead of feeling like there was a ten inch long needle poking the insides of his nerves and wedged between the bones of his wrists. 

Moving his thumbs was still not an especially fun experience, but it was getting better. And the wrist exercises Swoops was making him do were helping. He hadn’t cooked or baked anything in three weeks. Almost a month. Probably the longest in his life, if he was being honest.

The crunch of the opening door shook him out of his thoughts, and Bitty realized he’d been standing in the middle of the den for several minutes, not doing anything at all. And he had just decided to quit this stupid sulky nonsense.

“Hi, B!”

The smile spreading across Bitty’s face was genuine, for the first time in a long time, and he ran across the room, grinning as Tater spread his arms wide, and jumped into his friend’s arms for a bear hug. “Hi Alexei!”

As he snuggled into Tater’s cuddly embrace, Bitty saw Kent eye the trash bags lined up in the kitchen, and the soft smile on Kent’s face.

“Lord, it’s good to see you,” Bitty said, kissing Tater’s cheek quickly before shimmying down to the floor. “You’re probably exhausted after that red-eye, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down?”

Tater laughed. “B, I’m sit for last ten hours,” he said. “Eight on plane, and two more at airport. Not as long as flight home,” he said, stretching, “but is long enough. You and Kenosha, you sit. I’m make snack,” he said. “Finger food. Plane food is gross… besides, need to do something with my hands, too much-” he paused, waving his hands, then looked at Kent.

“You’re all keyed-up, too much energy,” Kent supplied, and Tater nodded, grinning at him. Bitty smiled at how easy these two were with each other. He thought back to how he’d been about Kent just a few months ago, and was reminded that Tater had felt like he had to hide this affection, this friendship from him.

“I’m so glad we all get to do this,” he said, making sure Alexei knew now that everything was all okay. Out of habit, he slid into the kitchen. “What can I do to help?”

Alexei was having none of it. He pointed a big finger at one of the stools by the island. “You can sit butt down and be pretty,” he said. “I always do that for you before, now is your turn.”

Bitty felt his face go warm. “I- well, if that isn’t the nicest thing,” he said, because it was, and if he tried to say anything else, he was absolutely positive that it would be embarrassing. He hopped up on a stool, and smiled as Kent wordlessly passed him a pair of molded icepacks. He let the packs sit on his hands, bracing for the sharp ache of the cold before his wrists got used to it. The first few minutes were never fun, but the respite from the pain was always welcome.

“Thanks honey,” he said to Kent, then turned back to Alexei. “Whatcha makin’, sweetie?”

Alexei pulled his head out of the fridge, arms full of ingredients. “Blini,” he said. “Mama’s recipe. She get from her mama, and she teach me when I’m little.”

Kent snorted. “You were little? Like, there was a time where that was a thing?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Alexei said, but it was with such fondness that all of the scolding was completely lost. “Come here, you. Instead of running mouth, you help set table.”

Kent arched a perfectly done brow. “Lyosha, I don’t have a dining table and you know it.”

“Pffh,” Alexei huffed, waving a hand as he scooped thick farmer’s cheese into a cheese cloth, squeezing out the extra water. Bitty couldn’t help but watch carefully. Someday, his wrists would be better, and he could cook again, and he wanted to soak up this new culinary information.

“What? I’ve never needed one!”

“We make sure you have one when Mama Mashkova and Babushka come visit,” Alexei said. “Have proper family dinner.”

Bitty didn’t miss the way Kent’s ears went red, or the soft smile that made his eyes go warm and blue. That was nice… Kent talked to his mother and sister a lot, Bitty knew, but he got the sense that big family meals weren’t really a thing Kent had ever had. Alexei was such a good friend.

A good friend who had caught him staring intently at his hands as he chopped meat and mixed spices in a silver bowl. But Alexei just smiled. “See, B? You’re not only one who can cook.” His grin was a bit sheepish though. “I’m mess up lot of things in kitchens, but blini always come out right. Big hands,” he said, scrunching his fingers and making Bitty laugh, “good for making flat cakes. Right, Kenosha?”

“The best. You’re gonna love these, Bits. I’m probably gonna stuff like, twenty of them in my mouth.”

“Um, Alexei?” Bitty asked, his voice soft. This was weird. He’d never felt nervous asking Tater anything before. But this was like, secret family recipes, and food from his homeland, from the old country. He didn’t want to offend him.

“Yes, B?” Tater’s voice was soft, kind. So was his smile.

Before he lost his nerve, Bitty rushed the words out. “Um, do- do you think you could maybe… maybe tell me what you’re doing? Like, as you do it? I mean, if it’s too hard to do, I definitely understand. And I don’t mean the English,” he said hurriedly, not wanting Alexei to think that’s what he meant. “I mean, when I do- when I did,” he corrected himself, “my vlogs, sometimes I would have to re-do a whole bunch of things, because I got all discombobulated when I was trying to explain what I was doing while I did it, you know, so my viewers could follow along, but I would get so wrapped up in the words that I would make mistakes on the food.”

“Whoa, B… no need for nervous, is okay,” Alexei said, easing the tumble of words that were coming out of Bitty’s mouth. “Slow, is okay. You… you want me to explain… to say how I’m cook?” he asked. Then the glow of understanding lit up his face. “You want me to teach you? Teach how to make blini?”

Bitty nodded. “If um, if that’s… okay? You don’t have to or anything… especially if it’s weird, or if it’s a family secret or something like that.” He looked at Kent, knowing what he was going to say. “I’m not gonna help, or stress my wrists,” he said, readjusting his ice packs.

“Good,” Kent said gently, “you need to keep resting them.”

“And I am, I promise. I just want to learn stuff,” he said, smiling a bit. “Even if I can’t cook now, I’ll be able to do it again someday, right? And at least maybe I can still be, you know, connected to food like this.”

Alexei wiped his hands on his apron, then came around the counter to give Bitty a quick, tight hug. “Of course I’m teach you. Mama will be proud, you want to learn proper Russian way to cook.” He laughed. “Maybe, when she come over next, maybe she teach you how to make sirniki, my favorite breakfast. With blueberry even,” he said, grinning. “We all make best food together. You make so much food for us,” Alexei said, “is our turn now, B. I’m cook tonight… present for you, for all nook pies, and for Kenosha, for have me to stay for holiday. Tomorrow, Kenosha and me, we make Hannukah food… latkes, apples, honey. We cook feast for you, yes?”

Kent nodded. “That’s the plan, Lyosha. What do you say, Bits? That work for you?”

Bitty felt a lump in his throat that had nothing to do with nerves, and everything to do with how overwhelmed with love he was for these two. These boys. “Sounds like a plan.” He sniffed. “Thanks, y’all.”

* * *

The Hanukkah meal that Tater and Kent had cooked for him was incredible, even though there was almost a serious oil flame with the latkes. Much to Tater’s amusement, he explained that he was only good at eating potatoes, not cooking them. Lord, but it was nice to have someone else do the cooking for once. And the cleaning. Well. To be fair, it wasn’t like he ever did a lot of that before… but he always had the built-in excuse of “Well boys, I made all the food, it’s only fair y’all do the dishes” to save him. Of course, Kent wasn’t letting him do anything that might strain his wrists either. And neither was Tater. These boys, honestly.

Bitty had never had this kind of food before… food that seemed to find all the little hurts and wounds in his soul, and lovingly covered them all in warmth and honey and sweetness, and found a way to fill up the emptiness that he’d been carrying around in his chest, right behind his heart, until it was almost like it had never been there at all. Jewish food was amazing. And he needed to learn how to cook it when he was better.

Huh.

This was the first time he’d thought of it in terms of ‘when’, not ‘if’. Huh. That was new. And good.

Better was the feeling he got when they all lit the menorah together. He’d seen the nine-stemmed candelabras before, but he hadn’t known the details of the story. He let Kent’s soft voice wash over him as he sat, snuggled back against Tater’s warm chest, an arm around his shoulder as Kent wove the tale of the Maccabees and the battles and the one night of oil that lasted for eight nights instead, and of the meaning of light and warmth in the darkness. Which, the more he thought about it, was exactly what he needed right now, and exactly what Kent’s house, and Kent himself, had become for him.

Kent had smiled, softer than Bitty had ever seen, at Tater, who had squeezed his shoulder once before nudging Bitty to stand, and getting his own menorah from where it had been sitting on the side table. Tater’s had seven arms, not nine, and he’d explained that it was an older style, and had belonged to his grandmother when she was a little girl.

Bitty felt awe as he watched both of them light each in turn, starting with the candle that sat a bit higher than the others and going in turn until the entire room was filled with a warmth that filled up every inch of him, and threatened to spill over. Bitty watched as the two of them cradled each other’s hands, so softly, so gently, and as their voices joined in well-practiced and familiar Hebrew, speaking the traditional prayer over the flames.

He knew the jist of what they were saying, they had explained earlier. But more than the words, he felt witness to something else here. They weren’t just thanking their god for the candles. They were thankful for the light, for the warmth… for each other, and for the chance to have this – together.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

They – they were together, here, always. Kent and Alexei… and as soon as he thought it, Bitty was shocked that he hadn’t noticed it earlier. The naked love on their faces was so clear, so open. And they trusted him enough to be this way with each other, to share their week with him. This was really the only time during the season they could spend time together, Bitty realized. And they wanted him to share it with them.

He wiped at his eyes suddenly, unsure of when exactly he had started to cry.

Kent and Tater noticed, but they didn’t speak. Instead, Tater just reached for him, and pulled him and Kent both in close, kissing the tops of their heads, not breaking the spell of the beautiful lights. Kent went slightly pink, but he smiled, and his eyes were the soft tawny they got when he was genuinely happy. He looked up at Tater, pressing a kiss to his jaw, and then nuzzled in, shyly putting his other arm around Bitty.

Bitty took his chance and hugged Kent back, making sure to hold Kent’s gaze, to make sure Kent knew that Bitty knew where he was, knew who he was with. And to somehow make him understand that Bitty wanted this affection, this comfort, from both of them.

* * *

After the menorahs, the next three days before Kent’s holiday party practically flew by. Kent had gone to the official Aces party at Swoops and Jenny’s place, and texted Bitty and Alyosha through nearly the whole thing. Fucking Carl had been worse than usual – he always was when he got drunk – but at least Carl wasn’t fucking invited to his party.

When Kent got back to his apartment after a last-minute ice and plastic tablecloth run (after the party three years ago, he was never again having more than two team members over without them) he was surprised to find a tall redhead in his kitchen, elbows deep in flour and concentrating very hard as Bitty sat on one of the breakfast nook stools and directed.

“Mags?” Kent said, nodding at his d-man. “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Kent,” he grinned.

Kent winced. “Sorry, I just-”

“It’s fine, Parse, no worries. Bitty was texting me about making bread for the party,” he said, and Kent rounded on Bitty, who threw up his hands.

“Nothing bad Kent, I swear! Lord, I was just letting him know that I knew I’d promised some back last month, but that with my wrists I couldn’t make any after all.”

“Good,” Kent said. “You still need to rest. And beating the hell out of three-flour bread is not resting.”

“Kneading,” Mags and Bitty said at the same time, laughing when they heard each other.

Kent couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Where’s Tater?”

Mags grinned. “Your big hulking Russian boyfriend is getting in a quick workout session. Someone should explain the concept of a bye week. Or a party,” he teased. “Or maybe he just wants to look extra cute for you.”

Kent blushed to the tips of his ears. “Oh hush. I’m still your fucking captain, I can make you skate suicides next week.”

Mags snorted. “Sure. If you can catch me.”

Kent sighed off the chirp, tossing one back as he went to go kiss his boyfriend, since they were actually in the same apartment. The last few days had been so damn nice. With his luck, it was right about time for the scary music to kick in and everything to go all to hell.

He was really sort of hoping that, for once, he could skip to the next commercial break and things would stay nice.

* * *

Bitty grinned, laughing at the pictures Scraps had pulled up on his phone of Kent on the ice, his bucket discarded and legs half in the splits, a wide grin on his face, and his hair sticking up even worse than usual.

“I’d just cracked my ankle the game before,” Scraps said, “I was trying to distract myself with dumb shit so I wouldn’t focus on not being able to play… and this little fucker,” he said, giving Kent a fond noogie that he took rather well, “decided he would be a dumb shit instead. First time I smiled in a week,” he said.

Kent went slightly pink again, but he seemed to enjoy the attention. “Aw, Scraps, you do care.”

“Course,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Bitty looked around, through the buzz of chatter. There weren’t many people here, and it was certainly more subdued compared to the parties he used to host from the Samwell crowd, or even the Falcs… there were definitely not as many married guys on the Aces, and Kent had definitely kept this party to close friends only – since Tater was there as his boyfriend.

He found himself relieved that Kent had people who cared about him like this. Who knew that Kent was in love with a man, and still respected him, still wanted him to be their captain. And as the recipient of Kent’s caring and generous nature this past month, Bitty knew how well Kent looked after his guys.

Mags had even brought his brother and sister. His brother, who Mags had introduced as “Modan” and insisted on either ‘Mo’ or ‘Modi’ instead, was sitting on the counter of the breakfast nook, shovelling nachos in like they were going out of style, and Sigrid had taken over the kitchen with an efficiency that Bitty admired.

He caught Kent smiling at her as she shooed Swoops out and away from the blondies in the oven.

Kent chuckled. “They all listen to her. Most of them are a little frightened of her, to be honest.”

Bitty rolled his eyes. “There’s a story in there, I’ll bet.”

“There is. Carl-”

“The Asshole we don’t speak of at happy events such as these?” Bitty said, his voice dripping with venom through his smile.

Kent nodded. “That’s the one. He said some shit to me one party after we got knocked out of round three. Sigrid heard it, went ballistic. She chased everyone out of here with my marble rolling pin, then stayed to watch a chick-flick marathon with me. And she made me ice cream.”

“She made it?” Bitty asked, impressed.

“Lavender-honey. She makes ice cream when she can’t sleep. When you can cook again, you should ask her. I bet she’d-”

Kent jumped at the heavy banging on his door.

“Who the fuck…?” Swoops said, his question dangling out in the now-quiet room.

Jenny stood up and was by Kent’s side in an instant. “Kent, are you expecting anyone else?”

Kent shook his head, looking dumbstruck. Bitty hated this look on his face, like Kent didn’t know which way was up in his own house. And he almost looked scared. Oh lord… what if it was Carl or one of the other homophobic guys on the team? He hadn’t been able to get details out of Kent, and neither had Tater, who was looking wary from where he sat on the couch, a couple feet away. But Bitty knew that Carl wasn’t the only one who vocally hated “those damn gays”.

Just when Bitty was about to break the silence and offer to get the door himself, Kent stood up. “It’s my house… I should get that,” he said softly, clenching his fingers a few times, looking like he might chicken out any second, but then something shifted in his face. “If it’s anyone who isn’t supposed to be here, anyone got a problem with me tossing them out?” he asked.

There was a chorus of assent, and looking better, Kent went down the hall to the door.

No one really started their conversations back up. They weren’t sure what was about to happen, but as the banging on the door hadn’t subsided, none of them really felt like it was going to be something unequivocally good.

* * *

Bitty was trying to remain calm and unaffected, but at the same time was trying to listen with all of his might. He didn’t want Kent to have to face whoever was on the other side of that door by himself.

Over the soft holiday piano music, he heard the opening of the door, and then a loud crunch as Modi stuffed three giant nachos in his mouth. “Forry,” he mumbled, but smiled as the tension in the room seemed to lessen just a bit. Bless him, that boy.

But Bitty’s momentary relaxation was shattered the next moment when he heard Kent let out a choked, “what are _you_ do-”

“Where is he?!”

There were footsteps storming down the hall. He could hear Kent trying to keep up with whoever it was.

“I don’t care what you’ve been telling him, Parse, I’m gonna see him!”

Bitty gasped, his hands going cold, and hating the dread pooling cold in his stomach. He’d never felt this way around him before.

Jack Zimmermann stood there, in Kent’s living room, looking angrier than Bitty had ever seen him.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gosh, y'all... I'm so sorry it took forever between chapters. *sweats guiltily* I spent a week and a half abroad, and then took another week to not be jetlagged or migrained and feeling like I simultaneously wanted to sleep forever and kill everything that made noise. 
> 
> To make up for it, have an extra long chapter! (And I promise, I'll respond to all the comments I haven't gotten to yet. Thank you all for continuing to be magnificent!


	12. Can't Go Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How everything started for Kent and Tater... and how even back then, they knew things would be different from that moment on. In Kent's apartment, choices are made... and everything changes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for anyone who needs it, trigger warning for some physical intimidation/violence towards the end of this chapter.

* * *

 

_Jack Zimmermann stood there, in Kent’s living room, looking angrier than Bitty had ever seen him._

* * *

the Beerhaus, the Las Vegas ‘Strip’, February 2017. Three and a half years ago.

* * *

Kent Parson tucked his wallet back into his pocket after showing his ID to the doorman. He’d walked in, since the place was only half a mile from the arena, and he knew he wasn’t going to have more than one drink, and by the time he walked back to his car at the igloo, he would be fine to drive back to Henderson.

He liked this bar. It was unassuming, at least as much as a bar could be, and most people here didn’t recognize him, even though this was his town. Kent guessed that most people didn’t expect to see NHL stars in here, so they didn’t bother looking. Which, really, was how he liked it after tough games. Swoops understood, and so did Scraps, and most of the guys figured he was off to do “gloomy boring captain shit” if he begged off a celebratory drink with the guys… especially if they lost.

They’d won tonight, but it had been hard fought. Double overtime. And after playing the Falcs, Kent’s brain was always a bit shaky anyway. He wasn’t in love with Jack anymore, he knew that… at least, he knew it in his head. His heart was another story. Sometimes he thought it was out to get him. Jack had that blond kid though, the one who looked at Jack like he hung the damn moon. Like Kent used to look at him. And Jack ate it up. Jack got all soft and gooey at this kid, and the minute Kent had seen them at that party two years ago, he’s felt something snap inside his chest and had known, really known, that he would never get back what he used to have with Jack. Once Jack moved on, he never looked back. How he’d behaved after his rehab had only cemented that.

Playing against Jack now had an edge to it, but it was different. It was the only time in the last five years that Kent still felt like he had to prove himself on the ice. If Zimms was out there, he knew that the announcers would talk about the 2009 draft. And about how Kent had gone first. And about whether he had truly earned it or was just the Aces’ consolation prize.

Not feeling that way had been hard fucking won, and he didn’t want to go back to that headspace… but playing against Jack – who seemed to be able to do no fucking wrong on the ice again – and hearing the announcers throwing around his worst fears as easy as talking about the damn weather… like they didn’t still give him nightmares sometimes, like they didn’t still make him wonder what might have happened if Jack hadn’t OD’ed. Like he might actually be the player who was only picked by default because there was no one better.

No. No, he would not let himself go there. There _wasn’t_ anyone fucking better. The Aces record book was filled with his goddamn name, he was the captain, he was leading the league in points and assists, and he had two motherfucking Stanley Cups. He wouldn’t let Jack Zimmermann get in his head tonight. Well, at least, not any more than he already had.

Kent made for the corner of the bar, empty as usual. He smiled at the brunette behind the counter and nodded at the speedwell. “Hey Anna,” he sighed, sliding up into the high chair. “Whiskey and coke, heavy on the coke, please.”

She nodded, tossing down a napkin and his drink, barely any whiskey in it – just the way he liked. Enough to taste it, but nowhere near enough to do any damage. Good. He was already damaged enough. He tugged out his wallet, sliding two twenties toward her. When she arched a brow at him, he pushed them toward her more insistently.

“Kent, I barely gave you two dollars’ worth of alcohol.”

“Keep it as a tip then. We really gonna have this fight every time I come in?” he said, half smiling at her. “Seriously, you deserve it. Not in the least, for putting up with my sorry ass.”

She snorted. “You have a great ass, and don’t forget it.”

Kent shrugged and laughed in spite of himself. “I never skip leg day.”

“It shows, babe.”

Kent smiled. “Thanks, man. Seriously though, keep that for you. I will have this argument every time if I need you. You’re great.”

She saluted him and moved down the bar to take orders from a rowdy group of six that had just walked in. Kent took a sip of his mostly-coke, but nearly choked on it when he heard the deep voice to his left.

“If Kent Parson never skip leg day, think maybe he should be taller.”

Hoping he didn’t look like a moron, or that he hadn’t spilled any of his drink, he turned around to face the owner of the voice, praying he wasn’t about to get his face smashed in. He didn’t want Anna to have to clean blood off the bar.

“Mashkov?” It came out as much more of a question than he’d wanted. “Uh…” Say something, you dingus. “Fancy seeing you here.” Wow. That was the best he could come up with?

Mashkov seemed to agree with him, as he gave him a strange look.

“You surprised me,” Kent said in his defense. “You’re kind of the last person I expected to see in here.”

“You surprise me too,” Mashkov said. “Not expect to see you give server such nice tip. Or expect to see you in bar like this.”

Oh yeah… Mashkov thought he was like, the Asshole Supreme or something. He could be. Jesus fuck, he could be an asshole, and he knew it. But that didn’t mean he liked it, or defaulted to that. “Where did you expect to see me?”

Mashkov shrugged. “Somewhere fancy. Dark,” he said, “maybe low, big couches? Rich place… how you say, um…”

And Kent was surprised for the second time tonight to see Mashkov looking vulnerable. Like he was uncomfortable, like there was something here he didn’t want Kent to see…. And it hit Kent like Mashkov had checked him into the boards. He didn’t know the English word he wanted, and was embarrassed about it.

“Swanky?” Kent offered, just guessing, ready to take it back if Mashkov didn’t want the help.

But his face lit up with a smile instead. “Yes! Exactly word I want, thank you.” He paused, seeming to realize who he had just thanked.

Kent shrugged. “No worries, English is weird. It’s all good.”

Mashkov paused, biting his lip, clearly struggling with himself. Then, he touched the back of the chair next to Kent – Jesus, how were his hands that fucking _huge_ – and said softly, “I can sit? Just for little bit… curfew. Um,” and now he looked shy again. “I’m think… maybe I-” he sighed, looking at his shoes before meeting Kent’s eyes, “maybe I get some things wrong about you. I hear Zimmboni’s – Jack’s – side… should maybe hear yours before I decide you’re rat.”

“I- um. Uh, yeah. Sure. Definitely, you can sit.” Okay, the word vomit could stop any time now. But Mashkov didn’t seem put off by it and instead sat down next to Kent, a small smile on his face.

“That’s not fair man, I have to like, climb up into these damn chairs,” he grumbled, and Mashkov chuckled.

“Parson just have to grow a bit more. Maybe eat more Wheaties.”

Kent laughed this time, drinking more of his mostly-coke. “I eat plenty of Wheaties, thank you very much. And thank you,” he said softly, “for wanting to- um… well, for wanting to give me a chance. To y’know. Not be a raging doucheball.”

Mashkov shook his head. “I’m not be very nice to you either. Should be better,” he said firmly. “Should leave on the ice. Is job… but who I am on ice is not who I am off it… Not fair for me to believe this about me, and not about you.”

Kent didn’t quite know what to say about that. It was… nice. People didn’t usually say nice things about him. Swoops and Scrappy did… but he was their captain. They kind of had to. Mashkov, as far as he could tell, had no actual reason to say nice things about him, but he seemed to be doing it anyway. That was a novelty. Instead of actually thinking about the nice, fluttery feeling in his stomach that absolutely was not about the fact that an attractive guy had just asked if he could have a drink with him – Kent was pretty sure Mashkov was straight, but he wasn’t _blind_ , the guy was damn hot – Kent just tapped the menu. “What’re you drinking? Vodka?” he guessed, going off of what his Russian guys tended to drink when they were out together.

Mashkov shook his head, catching Anna’s eye. When she walked over, he smiled at her. Kent was impressed that her only reaction was a slight start of surprise. If Mashkov had smiled at him like that, Kent was pretty sure he would grin for a week.

“Cosmo, please.”

Kent almost snorted. “Seriously?”

“What? Is tasty,” Mashkov said. “I’m comfy enough in masculinity to have pink drink.”

Kent did snort, but he could feel the knot of tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m proud of you, big guy. Seriously.”

Mashkov inclined his head in thanks, and took forty dollars out of his own wallet and handed the bills to Anna, who blushed when he insisted.

“Kent set good example.”

Anna rolled her eyes, then poked Kent’s shoulder. “You and your friends,” she said, but she looked pleased. “Thanks, sweetheart,” she nodded at Mashkov, who smiled shyly at her.

Yeah. Mashkov was definitely straight then. Figures. Leave it to him to start falling for another tall brunette who won’t want anything to do with him.

What the- ? Kent was not falling for him. He _wasn’t_. Sure, Mashkov was attractive… and exactly his fucking type, holy shit. He idly remembered the one time that Mashkov had lifted him clear off the ice with one hand. Unbidden, an image of Mashkov grabbing his ass and hoisting him up with one fluid move, wrapping Kent’s legs around his waist and pressing one big hand up along Kent’s back as he kissed him into next week, Kent pinned between Mashkov’s broad chest and the brick wall of the alley outside floated into his head.

Fuck. He couldn’t let himself think like that. No matter how hot it was. And it _was_ hot… but it would never happen. Mashkov was straight. And probably still hated him. Well, with the way that Mashkov was behaving right now, maybe hate was too strong. But even though he was being nice right now, he probably still didn’t like Kent very much. Which honestly? Fair.

Even if it was disappointing.

* * *

 

Losing in double OT had hurt. They had been so close, and Kent Parson had stopped them again. It was their third straight loss, and the team had worked so hard for a shift in their momentum, only to have it stolen from them. Again. Some of the Falconers had gone out on the Strip, looking for a high-class, expensive as hell bar to drown their sorrows in, while a few had decided to stick to the hotel bar. Tater hadn’t really wanted to be with any of them, and he certainly didn’t want to third wheel in his hotel room while Jack skyped with Bitty… pretending to sleep while trying not to cry.

He wasn’t out to anyone here, despite knowing that the team would stand behind him. He was still scared. And he was terrified that the knowledge would somehow work its way to other Russian players, and then to the KHL higher-ups. To the national committee. If that happened, he would not only never be able to play for Russia anymore, he wouldn’t be able to go home. His family… who knew whether they would be safe, or even whether they would still accept him. He’d never told anyone that he wasn’t strictly into women… never said the words aloud. He knew growing up that it was forbidden. That it was not talked about, just like he did not talk about his family’s Jewishness.

Here, it was supposed to be okay. But a lot of things that were supposed to be okay, still weren’t. And really, what was the point of risking everything anyway, if he was alone? It might be different if he was in love… but then again, he might fall in love with a woman. And he wouldn’t have to tell anyone. For now, he knew the plan. There was an Alexei Mashkov that everyone was allowed to see, to know about, and an Alexei that stayed secret.

From the looks of things, Kent Parson did exactly the same thing. He wondered what the differences were, and if he might like the Secret Kent any better than the Media One. He thought maybe, maybe he might. If Kent let him in.

And so they talked.

Not about hockey… there seemed to be an unspoken rule between them not to mention how they knew each other, or why either of them had chosen this bar.

It turned out that they both had sisters. Tater’s was older, while Kent’s was younger, but they both enjoyed talking about their siblings. And they were both closer to their sisters than they ever had been to their parents. Huh. If Media Kent was to be believed, his family life was great, and everything was perfect. Well, Tater couldn’t really fault him for that. He had never told a reporter that his family might disown him if they really knew him, or that he’d never been hugged by his father.

It was clear that Kent loved his sister very much, though when he talked about her, he was quiet… shy, almost. Like he couldn’t believe someone so awesome was related to him. Was Kent really so down on himself that he didn’t think he was worth that?

As his phone buzzed in his pocket, Tater reached for it, swiping across and seeing the alarm he’d set for himself. He had an hour to get back to the hotel for curfew. With a shock that rooted him to his chair, he realized that he didn’t want to leave. He was having a drink with Kent Parson and was enjoying himself. Oh.

Kent nodded at his phone, and at the fluffy golden dog in the background. “Yours?” he asked.

Tater nodded, a soft smile on his face.

“What’s her name? His?” Kent said, biting his lip. “Sorry, I-”

Tater stopped him. “No, you’re right first time. Her name is Olga. She’s my sweet girl.”

Kent’s smile was so soft. Tater felt his heart tighten inside his chest. He hadn’t known Kent could look like that. Oh no, no…. no, he couldn’t let himself get attached. He knew he fell in love as easy as breathing, because he wanted to see the best in people, and he craved feeling loved and needed… and tonight had been so _nice_ so far… he couldn’t let himself do this. Kent was straight, he had to be.

He forced the voice in his heart saying, _but what if he’s not_ , to be silent. He could not allow this.

“Wanna see mine?”     

Tater choked on his drink.

Kent winced. “Sorry, dude. I meant, my girl. My cat,” he explained, opening his own phone and flicking through his gallery until he found the picture he wanted, and suddenly Tater was leaning over his shoulder, way too close to Kent’s stupidly golden hair, and looking at the biggest, fluffiest cat he had ever seen in his life. A surprised laugh bubbled up. “Again, not what I expect. Full of surprises,” he said softly, nudging Kent’s shoulder with his own. “What’s her name?” he asked, echoing Kent from a few minutes ago.

“Seriously?” Kent asked, and he looked genuinely surprised. “You might be the only one left in the country that doesn’t know the great Kit Purrson,” he said, laughing as he pulled up an Instagram account… but it wasn’t his. It- it was an account for his cat. The pictures were adorable, he had to admit, but he didn’t like the implication that, as usual, he was the last person to pick up on something. Tater could feel his face getting hot, and he hoped the lighting in the bar was dark enough that Kent didn’t notice.

Kent’s eyes flicked up from where they were gazing lovingly at Kit to meet Tater’s, and his face fell. Damn it… he must have noticed. Tater braced for the wisecrack that had to be coming. Something about his English, or not being able to take a chirp… which would be his cue to leave, which he needed to do anyway, and now he at least wouldn’t feel bad about leaving.

“Or maybe you’re the only person who’s actually figured out that I’m not as cool as I think I am.”

Tater gasped. That was… absolutely not what he’d expected. Kent… Kent had noticed that something he said hadn’t been taken well, and instead of making a joke or making it worse, had known what to say to take the focus away from Tater’s lack of knowledge, to make him feel better about not knowing something. He wanted to thank Kent… but he wasn’t sure how to. So he nudged Kent’s shoulder again, and said, “Still cool. Just, maybe different kind of cool than media thinks, huh?”

The corner of Kent’s mouth quirked up into a grateful smile. “You’re not half bad yourself, Mashkov.”

“Alexei.”

“Alexei then,” Kent said, and Tater felt something curl pleasantly in his gut when Kent actually pronounced it correctly. Kent looked surprised at the permission to use his first name, but pleased all the same. Tater smiled. It was a good look on him. Tater patted his phone. “I um… I should get back.” And here he was, back to not wanting to leave again. “Thanks for this,” he gestured between them, wishing he had an excuse or a way to stay.

“Think you can find your way back to the hotel okay?”

Tater knew by now that Kent didn’t mean anything other than a genuine concern, wanting to make sure that Tater would be okay. He’d had three cosmos in the last two hours. Enough to feel buzzed, and certainly more than the one beer he had originally planned on, but nowhere near enough to make him drunk. Still, if it meant that he got to spend a few more minutes with Kent…

He tapped his chin. “Maybe you should walk me back?” he said, smiling. “Just in case?” He knew he probably shouldn’t, for so many reasons, but he hoped that Kent would say yes.

And after seeming to seriously weigh it over for a moment, Kent smiled back. “Sure thing. I’ve got to get back over that way anyway, my car’s still at the arena.”

Oh. Kent wanted to come, but only for his car. That was okay though… maybe it would help make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. He’d already spent over a hundred tonight, paying Anna forty dollars for each drink, as had Kent.

Tater stood, smiling as he watched Kent climb down from the tall chair.

“Oh, shush,” Kent said, but his smile took away the harshness. “Let’s get going.”

The walk back was pleasant enough, if a bit chilly. The conversation continued to flow smoothly, and before Tater knew it, they were back at the hotel. He didn’t comment on it, and neither did Kent, who nodded at the doorman with a smile. As they waited by the elevator, Tater took a chance. “Walk me to my door?” he asked softly, not daring to hope, in case he’d misread everything.

For the first time since he’d sat down at the bar, Tater saw Kent look apprehensive, almost fearful. “You uh… you room with Zi- Jack, right?”

Tater nodded, not sure why exactly Kent was asking, only that he knew Kent and Jack didn’t like each other much.

Kent shrugged, looking small again. “I’m- I’m not sure that’s a great idea. He- um. He might not be happy to see me. He might be pretty angry, actually.”

Tater hadn’t considered that.

“Look, this was really- it was nice,” Kent said, looking like he had wanted to say more. “Thank you,” and he sounded like he really meant it. “I-” Kent bit his lip. “I don’t want to throw him off… or push my luck here. Maybe we should just-”

No, Tater knew that tone. It usually meant that whoever was talking was about to tell him goodbye. And he didn’t want Kent to say goodbye.

“Maybe we don’t tell Zimmboni we’re friends.”

Kent’s eyes widened, and if Tater wasn’t standing there with his heart in his mouth, it might have been funny. When Kent spoke though, he didn’t say what Tater expected to hear.

“You- we… we’re friends?” And fuck everything, Kent looked more hopeful than Tater had ever seen him. And Tater had seen him watching the puck fly off his stick toward the crease during a Stanley Cup playoff game.

“Of course,” he said, because his stupid heart couldn’t let him say anything else.

Kent gave him a shaky smile, and thrust his phone at him. “If you- if you want to put your number in,” he said, looking at the floor and looking so adorable it was all Tater could do not to take him in his arms and kiss him.

Tater took the phone and punched in his information, then handed it back, digging in his pocket for his own. “Call me,” he said.

“Al-yosha?” Kent said, completely butchering the pronunciation of his nickname, but Tater smiled anyway.

“Yes, is Russian nickname for Alexei.”

“But it’s longer.”

“What?”

“Al-yosha is longer than Alexei. Nicknames are supposed to be shorter.”

“You’re just saying because you are shorter,” he teased, and was pleased with himself when Kent grinned.

“Yeah, I can’t pronounce this. Um, can I call you ‘Lyosha’ instead?”

And _oh_ , that Did Things to his heart to hear Kent ask for a special nickname. No one else in the whole world had ever called him Lyosha, and while it wasn’t technically perfect, it was theirs. That was… that was definitely fine. He nodded at Kent, knowing his smile was probably threatening to crack his face in half.

“Cool… if uh. If we’re doing this nickname thing,” Kent said, and Tater felt his heart thump hard against his ribs, hoping Kent would let him call him something, “maybe I should have one too?”

“Of course.” But how could he get a diminutive from ‘Kent’?

And then, Kent did what he’d been doing all night when he saw Tater struggling, and came through for him. “Just add ‘osha’, right? Kenosha?”

Tater chuckled. “Sounds good to me, Kenosha.” And it was definitely worth it for the soft blush that colored Kent’s face. No, just adding ‘osha’ was not right, but if that was what Kent wanted, he would do it. Whatever Kent wanted, he would do it. He knew that three hours ago, he had felt very differently, but a part of him had known when he sat down for a drink with Kent Parson that his life would never be the same after. And he was all right with that.

* * *

Kent Parson’s penthouse apartment, Las Vegas, January 2020

* * *

 

Bitty _hated_ this. The last time he’d felt this sick dread was when he was thirteen and being literally shoved in a closet. This was the fear that he’d once associated with big jocks, fear that it had been almost a decade since he’d felt. And now he was feeling it looking at Jack. Someone he’d thought he loved, who he thought loved him back. Who had held him and said so. Had promised forever…. Then he had promised to listen, to do as Bitty had asked, to let Bitty walk away. And now he was breaking it, just like he had with Kent.

Bitty’s eyes flicked over to Kent, who looked ashen, and met Bitty’s eyes, his own a dull green, shaking his head, trying to let Bitty know that he wouldn’t have let Jack in if he’d known. Bitty needed Kent to know that he didn’t blame him, that he wasn’t angry with him.

Jack grabbed his shoulders. “Look at _me_ , Bits, not him!”

Bitty flinched at the volume and at Jack’s grip.

“Jack, I-”

“ _One_ , Bittle… I’m supposed to believe that one conversation with him, and he drags up this bullshit about us coming out, and gets you to come out here, to lie to me! One! Tell me the truth, Bittle, how long have you been lying to me? This whole time, since you yelled at me, have you been out here with this asshole?”

From the corner of his eye, Bitty saw Tater standing to put an arm around Kent, who looked like his skeleton had just disintegrated and he could barely stand. Everyone else was frozen in place. Everything had been so nice, and now… No. No, Kent had been so happy, so relaxed, and they had been having a goddamn _lovely_ time. Jack didn’t get to come here unannounced and ruin it.

Bitty forced himself to look up at Jack, who still looked mad enough to chew bricks.

“Leave Kent out of this,” he said quietly, the smallest tremor in his voice.

“What?” Jack’s voice wasn’t loud anymore, but he was still seething.

“You heard me,” Bitty said, his voice louder now, stronger as he registered the people around him, one at a time, and knew that they all cared about him, and would back him up if he needed it. “Leave Kent out of this. Whatever this is, it’s between you and me.”

“But-”

“No buts, Jack! When I wrote you that letter, I’d meant to go to my parents, but I couldn’t bear to hear an ‘I told you so’… and I knew Kent would understand, so-”

“Understand what? What on earth could Parse possibly understand about you that I couldn’t?”

“How hard it is to wait for you!” Bitty yelled. “How awful it feels to wait for you, and wait and wait, and keep waiting… wondering if I’m ever gonna be enough to make you give me what I want, what I need! To make sacrifices, and put my entire life on hold, wondering if you’re ever gonna pick up your share!” Dimly, Bitty knew he had just told Jack that this was just between them, and he was shouting all of this in a room full of people, but he just didn’t care anymore. And anyhow, if Jack had wanted this to be private, he could have picked up the phone and called instead of flying across the country and crashing a party that he hadn’t been invited to.

“I am allowed to be angry about what happened. I am _allowed_ to be angry about what you did! Jesus, Jack. I was the only one making plans about us. I was the one doing all the work, and-” Jack’s words just clicked, “and when _I_ yelled at you?” Bitty let out a mirthless laugh. “In your kitchen Jack, you were the one who did the yelling. And now, you come all the way out here, barge in, and scare me and my friends… for what? What was the grand plan here? Did you really think that this was some masterful way to get me to come back?”

Jack was silent for a moment, and Bitty saw the muscles in Jack’s arms bunch, but he didn’t move. “What happened to you, Bittle?”

“I grew up,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

Kent took a tentative step forward. Tater’s face looked stormy, his arm still protectively around Kent’s shoulders. “Um,” Kent tried softly, “Jack, m-maybe… you should-”

Jack froze, then rounded on Kent. “You did this,” he said.

Bitty saw it happen as though everything was in slow motion. He saw Jack’s fingers curl into a fist, and his mouth twisting into a snarl as he brought his arm up in an arc to land a punch square on Kent’s jaw. Bitty saw Kent’s eyes widen as he realized what Jack was going to do, then squeeze shut as he braced for the impact.

Without hesitating, Bitty rushed forward and shoved Jack away from Kent, everything around him moving as slow as molasses, even as his brain spun around, watching Jack take the swing while trying to simultaneously convince himself that Jack would never get so mad he might hit someone.

For a split second, Bitty thought he was going to have a monster bruise on his cheek. After all, that was about the same height as Kent’s jaw. But Bitty saw Jack’s eyes widen. Jack had seen Bitty step in, but he didn’t have time to stop himself, and his momentum carried him forward, even as he tried to overcorrect.

Jack lurched forward to the right as he tried to pull himself out of the swing, and he wound up half falling into Bitty. His arms felt like lead as he tried to pull together enough energy to shove Jack off of him. Abruptly, the weight was lifted as Mags pulled Jack back up to standing.

Jack looked angry that the big d-man had his hands on him. But a second later, Jack’s face had crumpled. “Bitty, I-”

“Get out.” Bitty and Kent had said it at the same time, though Kent’s voice was much shakier. Bitty spared Kent a soft glance, then glared up at Jack, continuing where he knew Kent couldn’t. “Get out, Jack. I don’t ever want to see you or hear from you again.” He hoped against hope that Jack’s guilt at almost hitting him would be enough to carry him out the door, because there was no way he was strong enough to wrestle him out if he made an issue of it.

He needn’t have worried. Mags was there, using the one inch he had on Jack to full advantage, his big hands firmly taking hold of Jack’s shoulders. “You’re leaving,” he said, and his deep voice had a thread of steel through it. Bitty had never been more grateful for Mags in his entire life. Jack took a few steps down the hall, then looked back at Bitty. He determinedly turned away from him, stepping toward Kent instead and hugging him close. Bitty needed Kent to know that nothing Jack had said tonight was true. He didn’t have the words for it right now… but he needed Kent to know.

Mags took a step back inside and laid a comforting hand on Kent’s shoulder too, then Bitty’s. Bitty wasn’t sure exactly how, but he found himself with his arms around Mags, trying to wordlessly thank him for being there, for stepping in. Mags smiled gently, giving Bitty a quick, tight hug, then saying softly, “I’ll make sure he gets to a hotel or something, and then make sure building security knows not to let him in again, okay Parser?”

Kent nodded numbly. Bitty hated to see him like this. He stood on his tiptoes and pressed a soft, shy kiss to Kent’s cheek.

Mags gave their shoulders one last squeeze, then headed back down the hall, letting his huge d-man’s frame fill up the entire hallway and making sure Jack left.

As they all heard the door close, Bitty let out a shaky sigh. “All your shindigs that eventful, Mr. Parson?” he said, trying to diffuse the tension.

Kent let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Bitty’s heart broke for him. Glad to see how tightly Tater was holding him, Bitty hugged Kent too, knowing that he needed the contact as much as Kent did right now.

It was Jenny who nudged them later, though Bitty didn’t know if it was two minutes later or twenty. She had Kent’s small kitchen first aid kit in her hand. “You should make sure you’re both okay, honey,” she said softly.

Bitty nodded. His stomach didn’t hurt, but he knew it was likely the adrenaline that was responsible for the lack of pain. And the shock. Never once in the last half a decade did Bitty think Jack would ever hit him. True, Bitty hadn’t been who he was aiming for, but still. Right now, even though everything had seemed to take an eternity, the last few minutes were a blur and he wasn’t at all sure if Jack had actually managed to land a hit at all.

Kent sniffed. “Eric,” he said, his voice cracking. He hadn’t called Bitty ‘Eric’ in weeks.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he said softly, brushing Kent’s flyaway hair from his face.

Kent looked pained, and his eyes were that same slate grey they’d been in Bitty’s first few weeks, when Kent was forcing himself to say things, no matter how much it pained him to. “I- I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I-”

“No,” Bitty said firmly. “Don’t you dare apologize for Jack Zimmermann… he’s had people apologizing for him for too long, and clearly he hasn’t worked out how to do it himself. I won’t let you do it, Kenny. I won’t.”

Kent’s eyes filled with tears, but none fell. He opened and shut his mouth a few times, but unable to find the words he wanted, he just leaned forward and hugged Bitty, his head resting on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he whispered, so softly that Bitty almost didn’t hear it.

“Oh honey,” he said, “what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t just let him hurt you like that.”

“No one hurts my Kenosha,” Tater said, softly but firmly, and his big arms circled around both of them, cradling them close.

Scraps, who had been relatively quiet during this entire exchange, stepped forward. “Thanks for stepping in, Bitty,” he said, offering a smile. “But next time, let me do it, okay? I promise I’ll do better and actually step up. Parser, you’re great, okay?” he said fervently, waiting to make sure Kent was looking up and listening. “Don’t let anything Zimmermann said get in your head. This team loves you, Kit and Purrs love you, and- and everything Zimmermann said is just shit, okay?”

Kent laughed wetly. “Okay Scraps. Thanks, man. Really,” he said. “Thank you.”

Scraps nodded. “You’re the best, Kent. Never forget it, okay?”

Kent gave a weak chuckle. “Okay, Scrappy. I promise.”

Nodding, and looking like he had achieved his goal, Scraps tapped Bitty’s shoulder. “You guys need anything tonight, you give me a call, okay? I… I think it’s maybe time to head home for the night.”

“Oh…” Bitty nodded numbly. The fact that ten minutes ago this had been a party was feeling very surreal.

Modi hopped down off the counter, from where he’d been watching everything unfold. “I’ll make sure Mom and Dad know Mags is gonna be home late,” he said softly. He bumped his fist with Kent’s, who looked surprised at the contact. “Kit is a queen among felines, Parson. And Purrs is cute as hell. Thanks for having me over.”

Bitty almost laughed at the perfect gentlemanly goodbye, the same one his mother had drummed into his own sensibilities when in other people’s homes. “We’ll see you tomorrow Mo,” he said. “You promised to teach me that Fjellbröd recipe, all right honey?”

“Sure thing, Bits,” he said, grinning. “Anything to get to use this kitchen.”

Sigrid stood on tiptoe to kiss Kent’s shoulder. At five feet tall, she couldn’t reach any higher, but Kent smiled, appreciating the gesture. “Zimmermann is fucking full of shit, Kent, all right? You say the word, and whatever you need, I can get the whole clan over here okay?”

Kent smiled. “All the Thorvaldssons, huh?”

“We all love you. And you know if Mama Bear Elska finds out you’re sad, there’s gonna be a five course breakfast with your name on it. And like, the longest hug ever. If you need Dad to kick Zimmermann into next fucking month, he will.” She wrapped her arms around him stretching to get Bitty and Tater in her hug too.

“Thanks, sweet Sigrid,” Tater said, a soft smile on his face too. “Glad my Kenosha has you to watch him when I’m away.”

“Always, big guy. Kent’s family.” She paused, then smiled at Bitty. “So are you. Both of you. If you need anything, you call, y’hear?”

Bitty felt his heart swelling, knowing that all these people cared about him, not because of who he knew, or who he was dating. They cared about him, just because. Lord, that was a novel feeling.

Swoops and Jenny gave Kent, Tater, and Bitty similar condolences, as well as promising anything they needed. Kent looked a little overwhelmed with all this outpouring of love and support. Bitty didn’t blame him; compared to what Jack had dished out, he was also suffering from some pretty serious emotional whiplash.

When it was just the three of them, and the silence was threatening to become just the wrong side of awkward, he said, “so… I don’t know about y’all, but I feel like this mess can wait until tomorrow… maybe… um, we could go and all cuddle on that big couch-bed thing in the media room?” he suggested. He knew he’d been staying in the guest room since day one, and he didn’t want to intrude on Kent and Tater’s privacy, but he also really didn’t want to sleep alone tonight.

Kent’s eyes shifted just a bit, and he offered both of them the smallest smile. Tater kissed the tops of both of their heads. “B, I think is the best idea I ever hear. We can put on silly movies and cuddle, and I can remind both of you why you’re perfect.”

Kent looked like he was going to cry any second now, but he did get the words out. “Thank you… both. So much. I uh… just. Thanks. I… I kind of love you both, you know that.”

“Yeah,” Bitty said, smiling up at Tater. “We know.”

* * *

 

Jack stood on the sidewalk outside Kent’s building, feeling like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. He hadn’t realized he was about to hit Kent until it had been happening, and then it was Bitty in front of him instead. He’d almost hit Bitty. _Crisse_ , had he actually hit Bitty? He wasn’t sure. He might have… but he’d tried to stop. He couldn’t remember what had happened, whether or not he’d connected- He had to go back up there, to explain, to-

“Zimmermann, what in the hell were you thinking?”

Thorvaldsson. He’d clearly finished up his conversation with the doorman and was now looking at Jack like he’d never really seen him before.

“I didn’t mean to hit him,” Jack said, feeling the anger rise again.

“No, no. Before that,” Thorvaldsson said, waving him off. “I mean, yeah, that was way out of line. But…” he sighed heavily, running a hand through his red hair. “I meant getting on a plane. Flying out here. That was a spectacularly stupid thing to do.”

“I-” But Jack didn’t have any words. He couldn’t put words to the thought process that had gotten him from his apartment to Logan airport, then to McCarran, and to Kent’s building. All the way to his apartment, and then to throwing a punch.

Thorvaldsson just raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to have to do slightly better than that. I’m not saying you have to tell me,” he said, his hands open, palms up. “But even if it’s just to yourself, I think you really need to figure out why exactly you came out here… what made you do it, and what you hoped to get out of it. Maybe then you can start figuring out where to go next.”

“Next?”

Thorvaldsson shrugged. “Well, in terms of the immediate future, I was thinking the Best Western about fifteen minutes that way,” he said, pointing down the road into the darkness, toward where Jack knew the Strip lay. “You look like you could use the walk.”

Jack felt the anger in him morphing into something else at the thought of having to navigate himself all the way there, by himself.

“If you want company, I can walk with you. It’s okay,” Thorvaldsson said. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t glowering either. In answer to Jack’s unasked question, he said, “My mom raised all of us to look out for lost sheep.” He gestured to the sidewalk. “And you, Jack Zimmermann, are lost.”

 _Tabernac_ , was that ever true. He nodded at Thorvaldsson. The company would be nice, and it meant that he wouldn’t have to navigate Vegas by himself. And if the last ten minutes were any indication, he most certainly was not in a rational frame of mind tonight.

“Okay then.”

The walk itself wasn’t all that bad actually, even though it was a lot colder than he’d expected, and Thorvaldsson was right, the walk was helping to clear his head. About three minutes in, he’d started rambling, trying to put better words to the runaway trains of thought spinning in his head at the moment, and Thorvaldsson was a decent listener.

“You know, you don’t have to restrict yourself to my surname,” he said during a lull in Jack’s stream of consciousness.

“I wasn’t under the impression my actions had endeared me to you,” Jack said.

“Oh, they haven’t,” Thorvaldsson agreed. “But ‘Magnus’ is okay.”

“The magazines call you Prince Magnus.”

The redhead laughed. “True. They call you calculating and level-headed. A different kind of Zimmermann. I’ve seen that Zimmermann… I don’t like playing him,” he said. “He reads the ice well, knows what play’s the best. That wasn’t the Zimmermann I saw tonight.”

Jack flushed. “No.”

“I’ve heard Bitty talk to Parse and Tater… about how difficult the last few years have been for him. I get the sense that’s not a conversation he felt like he could have with you. You both seem to have trouble putting words to feelings.”

Jack nodded. Magnus was also perceptive on the ice, and he was proving to be just as discerning off of it. “I’ve been trying to be better.”

Magnus nodded. “That’s not for me to speculate about. But I know that he told you he was done. That he’d made a decision. And I know he’s been working through that decision… I don’t think he regrets it, coming out here. He’s-” Magnus paused, biting his lip, his head nodding back and forth, like he was mentally rearranging the words before he let them come out of his mouth. “He’s been making a lot of decisions in the last couple months. And building a life for himself. I don’t think he regrets any of them. One of the reasons I didn’t stuff you in a lyft is to make sure that you didn’t make another decision you’ll regret.”

“I do regret hitting Bitty.”

The sidewalk around them was well-lit by now, as they were back in Vegas proper. Jack tried to read the expression on Magnus’s face as he stopped outside the hotel.

“I believe that, Jack. I really do.”

The air between them was filled with pumping music, and the sound of winning slot machines, the bright and cheery music a sharp contrast to the sick ache in Jack’s stomach. “But?” he said, voicing the unspoken half of Magnus’s sentence.

“Do you regret trying to hit Kent?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I am so sorry this took so long. This chapter was very hard to write... I've been struggling and toiling away at it for almost three weeks. The fluff part was easy... but the second half. Whew. I knew I wanted it to be very serious, but I also wanted to have this scene hold weight and be believable. 
> 
> For anyone who is thinking that Jack would never ever hurt someone in anger: he's done it in canon. He punched the hell out of a guy who it's heavily implied was the one who hurt Tater. We don't know that for certain, but it's implied that this is why Jack wailed on the guy. Also, Jack is a hockey player, he gets physical. 
> 
> This chapter was very hard to write, and I rewrote the second half several times. Thank you all for sticking with me, and for reading my words. I love you all. Hope to see you for Chapter 13 sooner rather than later!

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a "quick" gift fic for lexpistachio... and the draft is currently over 20k... and still going. 
> 
> I genuinely don't know how this is going to go, and who is going to end up with who... please bear with me. I'm letting the NaNo spirit guide my fingers. 
> 
> Come visit me on tumblr, I love yelling about my hockey boys! I'm beaniebaneenie there too :D


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